


Certain As The Sun

by TheladyB



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 22,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheladyB/pseuds/TheladyB
Summary: Sansa is bright, beautiful, and out of place in her little town. After her father is captured in a forgotten castle, she moves to take his place with the cursed prince.





	1. Ever Just The Same

The castle had always been there. Even before there had been villages surrounding it. It was the masterwork of a long forgotten mason, built by the ancestors of the villagers that churned the butter and kept the cows and did as their ancestors had always done. They lived in the shadow of the castle, always secure that it was there to protect them. From what, nobody ever said. 

The castle had always been ruled over by a king. Until the last king died and his son took his place. The son had many ideas for improvements to the land, and so he demanded tax. The villagers paid. Then he had more ideas. The villagers paid. And then the prince realized that he could make the villagers pay for things that he wished for and wanted. And the villagers paid. They paid for golden carriages and sumptuous feasts and balls that they were not invited to. The villagers had never been wealthy, but now they were downright poor. Sickness overtook the ones who didn't have enough to eat, and they spread it around. 

One night, in the depths of winter, the prince was holding a feast. The tables groaned, and there weren't enough people to eat all that had been prepared. Suddenly, the doors of the castle swung open, bringing with them a reminder of the bitter cold outside. 

It was an old woman, wrapped in rags. Her face was pocked and red, eyes ringed with sparse lashes. She fell to her knees, either in hunger or deference. She begged for shelter from the bitter cold outside. In her hand was a single red rose, which she offered as a gift. The prince looked at her from the end of his huge table, around the spill of food and flowers that was already on the table. And he sneered at the rose. 

"This, a gift?" The woman stumbled towards him, holding the rose. It was perfectly in bloom, which was surprising, being that it was the dead of winter and the woman had no access to the greenhouses that he did. But still. A rose? He flicked it out of her hand. It fell, crushing slightly against the stone floor. 

Her voice was tinny, as though he was hearing it through glass. "Do not be deceived by appearances. Beauty is found within." The prince took a leg of lamb and began to eat it in front of her. He called for his guards. Perhaps they would give her a scrap of bread before throwing her out. 

A great light almost blinded him. The old woman was on fire. No. It was just light. It shone out from underneath the layers of rags, which fell away. The prince braced himself, but green velvet fell into a gowned shape. And the old woman - well, she was not old anymore. Mahogany hair tumbled down her back and fell around her newly smooth face. She was beautiful. 

The prince fell to his knees. He knew what she was. 

"An enchantress." The woman answered for him, smiling. 

"And you are nothing but a beast." Those were the last words that he heard in his own ears. After that, there was only screaming. 

****

Sansa had always liked mornings. Back when they lived up North, the mornings had a particular chill to them, meant to shock a person into productivity. Sansa had never known what the next day was going to hold when they lived up North. It felt like every day was new. 

In this village, though, she could predict everything that was going to happen. She would wake early, dress, and put whatever book she had finished in a basket to return. Then she'd take some gold from her father's store carved in one of the bedposts, and leave. 

Everybody stood in the same places everyday. There was the baker with his tray. He never made anything new. Just the same old bread and rolls. And only some were freshly baked. There was the tailor's shop, the yards of silk to sell. 

People greeted Sansa. They said 'bonjour' and some even smiled. But she wasn't, well, one of them. Most of these people had lived in the town all of their lives. Sansa and her father were interlopers. 

And they were odd. Sansa could hear the whispers that followed her to the bookshop. When Monsieur Davos opened the bookshop, he probably ought to have thought a little better. Hardly anybody read in this town, and his shop mostly survived off the people who bought Bibles just so they could display them in their houses. But he loved the books. Almost as much as Sansa herself did. She reached in her basket and softly fingered the cover of the latest book that she had just finished. It was about two forbidden lovers. Sansa loved that kind of book. The very best part was when there was a daring sword fight for Jonquil's love. Oh, it had the most beautiful phrasing. 

"Ma Belle Sansa!" The whinny of the horse made her look up. The man uttered her name like a curse. Well, she had practically walked in his way. She'd been so absorbed in her book. Quickly, she put the book back in her basket and scuttled towards the bookshop. 

Monsieur Davos was stacking books, the same way that she had left him yesterday. He was the only person who said Bonjour and appeared to actually mean it. 

"Got anything new?" She asked him after a casual greeting, searching the shelves. Monsieur Davos chuckled. 

"Not since yesterday!" Sansa shrugged. She plucked a book out of the shelves. Monsieur Davos examined it. 

"You have read this at least twice already." Sansa clutched the book to her chest. 

"I know, but it's my favorite. The daring sword fights, the prince in disguise? Oh." She hugged it to her chest. 

Monsieur Davos smiled at her affectionately, as if she was his own daughter. 

"It's yours." Sansa blushed. 

"Oh, but sir!" She had the money to pay. Her father always made it clear that their money was shared. And she had enough left over from buying supplies for the day that she could afford the book. Or at least half of it. 

But Monsieur Davos shook it off. 

"I insist." 

Monsieur Davos watched her leave. 

What a funny girl.


	2. A Funny Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa considers her father.

Her father was working on one of his clocks. Ned Stark had been a clothier when they lived up north, shipping intricate pieces to Paris for the fine ladies to wear. But his first love had always been clocks. One of Sansa's first memories was of the wall of ticking clocks that thrummed the seconds, making their own fine music. She'd dance to them. 

Now she ignored them. Ned was in the middle of building his clock - he clipped up a gear and was staring at it as though he had never seen it before. The clock itself was mostly built. The painting and gilding took days, but it was worth it. Her father's clocks could fetch a high price at the fairs during the summers. It was too bad that he never made many of them. And he sold even fewer. He was loath to part with particular clocks. 

But both Starks endured. They always had. 

"Poppa?" She took the gear from him and delicately clicked it into place. He didn't answer, but she knew that he was listening. "Am I odd?" That made him start. 

"My daughter? Odd? Where would you get an idea like that?" He was blinking at her from behind inch thick spectacles. It made him look like an owl. 

"Oh, just something I overheard at the village today. People talk." Right within earshot of Sansa. 

Sansa was used to people skirting her in the streets. Women were not supposed to read, especially not young women. And Sansa was a little odd. Even in the North she had been. But she had never quite believed it. 

The incident in question had happened earlier. She'd almost been trampled by a horse, which was nothing new in Sansa's world. But this time she hadn't even been reading a book. 

Jaime. Jaime's father had died and left him a significant fortune as far as the town was concerned. And he had distinguished himself in a recent war. And he was considered the village's hero after an incident with some wolves last winter. 

All this, and he was handsome. Broad shoulders gave way to the kind of face that she had only read about in books. It was as though he had stepped through the page of one of her favorite novels, a ready made hero. 

Unfortunately, he only had the heroism and the good looks. He'd left everything else on the page. 

And he didn't believe in books. He made that quite clear when he had thrown her book into a spit of mud. Sansa knew that Jaime was interested in courting her. Mostly because he said so. The man was not one for subtlety. He'd blocked her way into the village, jutting his powerful hips at her. Telling her that she needed to start focusing on the important things in life. Apparently he ranked among the important things in life. If it wasn't her life, Sansa would have found it hilarious how he'd planned out their courtship. Their - marriage. Sansa had not envisioned having quite so many dogs. Or rubbing Jaime's feet. 

Fortunately she had a lifetime of learning how to dodge undesirable things while distracted thanks to her books, so she was able to duck away from him and get on her way. 

But she'd heard his brother Tyrion ask Jaime why he wanted to be with 'that odd girl'. It wasn't a particularly painful insult. As a matter of fact he sounded merely curious. But Sansa felt strange. She was odd. And while she didn't want to be married right now, she did want friends. Ever since they had moved to the tiny town, there hadn't been anybody to really talk to. Excepting her father, who was always half caught up in his clocks. Sansa had her books, of course. And the inventions that she liked to dabble in. But it was difficult, to be the odd girl who read and had nobody else. All of the other girls her age wandered around in clumps, giggling and pulling at each other's skirts. Sansa longed to be a part of such a crowd - perhaps not giggling, but talking. 

She knew that her father missed being able to talk like that too. But ever since her mother passed, he hadn't been able to have the kind of companionship that she knew that he desired. Sansa knew that her father loved her, but she wasn't her mother. There were gaps in both of their lives. 

"Sansa, ma belle." Her father took her hand. Almost everyone at the village called her 'ma belle', mostly meant as an insult. But when her father said it, it was kind. "Do not worry about what those people say. Small minds attack that which they don't understand." Sansa had heard her father say this a hundred times. Most of the time it made her feel better. 

"I know, poppa. Thank you." And that was all she could say. She knew that her father didn't have it in him to offer anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Friends! I'm combining some stuff from the two BATB movies, so it might not fully follow either. Please let me know what you think about the story so far in the comments!


	3. The Beasts

Melisandre was, rather technically, a messenger. Although she had incredible power, beyond what most people could dream, she was only a messenger for a greater entity. Who it was, she could not say - even the name shook her to her bones. She had been chosen specially. The power that she held was immense. 

And yet, here she was, on the corner, begging. It was not a prosperous life, although her Mistress provided all that she required. She watched Sansa Stark walking past her, as the girl did every morning, returning her books to the shop. Melisandre's eyes lit. Ah. So she was the one. 

**** 

When the weather was fine, all the surrounding villages had fairs. They were glorious events, with days of food and dance and song. Sansa looked forward to the one in her village each year. Sometimes a traveling bookseller would come, or a group of players to put on a show. Tradesmen from all the nearby villages would go from fair to fair, selling their beautiful wares. This was what Sansa's father had to do to make sure that there was tea in the kettle and clothes on their backs. He never sold too many clocks, but they set at a high enough price that he never needed to. 

"So I'll be back tomorrow, my dear. Late, of course!" Her father leaned down and kissed her on the cheek in his sweet way. His beard scraped her cheek. 

"Don't worry about me, Poppa. I shall be in the streets of fair Verona." She held up her borrowed copy of Romeo and Juliet. 

Ned laughed. "Someday we shall go there. In the meantime, what shall I bring you?" He always asked this. Sansa wished for fine things sometimes - silks and satins, miles of lemon cakes like the ones that the vendors sold. Books enough to fill the house. But they couldn't afford any of that. So Sansa smiled and asked her father for the same thing that she always asked him for. 

"A rose. Just a rose." 

****

Ned Stark had scraped up the money to buy a horse a decade ago. It had been a fine investment. Vital, ever since he and his daughter moved to the isolated village that they called home. He knew his daughter disliked the village. Sansa stood out like silk among sows. Beautiful as her mother, and already as clever. Both of them had always seemed like they were too clever for their company. 

He'd begun making clocks as a hobby, and when his inheritance ran out, he started to sell them. His wife never minded their move from the grand Parisian house to the small apartment on the unfashionable side of the city. And Sansa didn't mind the smallness of their house, as far as he knew. But she was meant for better. He wasn't sure how he knew this. Perhaps it was just a father's belief. 

The horse's name was Felipe, and he was as good a creature as ever galloped. He drug Ned and his little wagon to every fair and festival in a fifty mile radius. He never complained. 

Now he began to whinny. 

They'd had to take a different route to the fair today. A tree had been struck down on their usual path, and Ned was too old to move it. That was the thing about age. One became more realistic about their limitations. 

This path was through a patch of forest that he had never seen before. It was cold. And the further they got down it, the more it looked like winter. Ned shuddered. He had not expected this. His cloak was light. 

Really, the cold did not bother him. It was the wolves peering out from between the bare branches.

Wolves normally didn't bother Ned either. He saw them in the forests in winter, but they were gentle creatures when they were not hungry. Loathe to approach a human, much less brutalize one. But these wolves looked like they were starving. Their coats were shaggy and their bodies raked with scars. 

Ned jerked a little harder on the reins. The creatures dived. 

They were faster than wolves normally ought to be. They kept up with the wagon, lashing at the clocks and Ned himself. Ned hurried Felipe on, but there was only so much the horse could do. 

Ned shouted when he saw the wrought iron gates. Civilization. He hit one of the wolves with a clock, smashing six months' worth of work in a single stroke, and directed Felipe through the gates. 

Oddly, the wolves backed away. Even though the gates hadn't yet closed. 

"We're safe." He told Felipe breathlessly. Although from what, he was not sure.


	4. Famine Turns To Feast

He had been wrong. Ned felt sorry about his first impression of the place. From the outside, the castle looked as if it had been abandoned. Chunks of stone had crashed around the base, looking for all the world like fallen teeth. Everything was overgrown, with footlong weeds snarling around the black marble creatures that had been carved into the doors. He had been nervous to open the door, afraid that the wolves had delivered him to something worse. 

Inside, however, it had glowed. This was due to the fire that was burning away cheerily in the corner. Ned had not dressed for the weather, and gratefully warmed himself by it. The castle must have been beautiful once. Underneath the dust, he could see the fine quality of the architecture, the beautiful goldwork that still glistened when it caught the light. There had been a seat prepared for him, a cup of tea. He drank it so fast it burned his throat. As he was gasping, he thought he could hear someone giggle. 

"Hello?" He had done the proper thing when he had come in. Called out for the master of the place, looked about for any servants. He had even taken the candelabra off the mantlepiece and done some searching. All in the foyer of course, he didn't want to intrude. He wondered if the owner of the place knew about the wolves. Whether they owned them. 

Nobody had answered.

Now he was set up in front of the fire and was warming himself. It couldn't hurt, he thought. Surely they could spare the warmth. 

Something moved in the corner of his eye. He turned, and saw that the passageway had been lit. He had not seen who had done it. Perhaps a servant. Or maybe it was a newfangled invention. Sansa would want to know. Dash it, he was eager to know. 

"Hello?" He followed the lights. 

There was a door. He waited for a moment to be polite, then opened it. Clearly this master was somebody who liked a bit of drama. Perhaps they didn't see many people in these parts. Ned knew that he had never heard of this place before. 

"Hello?" He said again, as a warning. 

The table almost took up the entire hall. This was a place that was made for state dinners. A place like Sansa read in one of her books. 

"Oh." Now only one place was set. For him. 

There was wine and cheese and meat and bread. Things he had never seen all together on a plate but at Christmas. He was ashamed to say that he ate before saying his prayers. Sansa was always so vigilant with them at home. 

His daughter. Oh, he would have to go back and tell her. He wouldn't be able to sell his clocks now. They all lay broken on the road. That would mean- well, Ned didn't know what that would mean. He had never gone without selling his clocks before. He didn't know how to do anything else. But he would. For Sansa, he would do anything in the world. 

"I- I'm sorry. " He said to the room in general. "I must be -" And then he screamed. 

****  
Sansa had not had a good day. One of the chickens had trampled her own eggs, her dress had had to be patched again, and Jaime had been waiting outside her house for half an hour. He knew what time she went to Davos' shop to swap out her next book. Everybody knew everyone's schedule here. It was very unnerving. 

She knew that she would have to go outside at some point, if only so Jaime didn't call for half the village to come and check on her. Just because they didn't like her didn't mean that they wouldn't want to hear about her troubles. That was half the fun. 

But that didn't mean she had to come when he beckoned her. He had actually had the nerve to do this once he saw her staring at him from her window. No, she took her time. She braided her hair twice, and smoothed the skirts of her dress. It was a lovely sky blue, and had been bought when hope was high that Sansa would have a whole wardrobe of colors. She was glad now that they had bought a whole bolt of the blue fabric. It almost chiefly made up her wardrobe now. 

Jaime had to run to catch her. She had gone out the other way, clutching the Shakespeare that she had borrowed yesterday. In retrospect, this was a poor choice, because he trampled two of her cabbages. That meant two dinners down the drain.

Sansa tried to smile when he stopped her. 

"For your table." Jaime presented her with a quivering bunch of flowers. Sansa did not take them. 

"Thank you." He took her by the wrist and forced the flowers into her open hand. Sansa tried to smile again, but her mouth wouldn't lift up at the corners. 

"Yes, of course. It was no trouble, I had someone else pick them." Probably his brother, Tyrion. Tyrion could have been clever if he would stop being so obsessed with his brother. 

"I'm sure they will suit." Sansa said. Jaime laughed. It made his chest move, probably purposefully. 

"Indeed. Well, what is that you're reading, ma Belle Sansa?" His hand had not released hers. She'd had to squirm it away. 

"Just finished, actually. It's -" But he interrupted. Jaime was always interrupting. 

"Yes, a good book." A rush of, well, something filled Sansa's chest. Nobody liked books in the town. Aside from religious texts, that was. 

"Have you read it?" She clutched the book her her chest. Hope. That's what it was. Hope. 

But Jaime looked at her and laughed again. "No - I mean, I have read things like it. Books. I've read books." Sansa let this lie go. 

They were entering the center of town. People were looking up from their daily buying and bartering to look at them. Sansa realized how it must look. Them walking. Her with the flowers. She quickly let the bouquet drop to her side. 

"Well, shall we talk more about these books over dinner?" Jaime asked, so loud that a nearby child dropped his slate. 

Over dinner? Early on, men had asked her father to come over for dinner. It had become clear over the course of several of these dinners that they were not after the cabbage stew. Now Sansa and her father never had guests. It was better that way. 

Now Jaime was asking her for dinner, and she knew what it meant. Right in front of everyone, too. He must have thought that she wouldn't say no. He must have been trying to ensure that she wouldn't say no. 

Sansa tried to walk, tried to go over to the bookshop where it was quieter. So she wouldn't embarrass Jaime. So she wouldn't face retribution from the town where he meant so much. But Jaime was immovable. 

"I'm sorry. I can't." Jaime's face twisted slightly into a grin. 

"Why? Busy?" He laughed. Everyone in the town knew everybody's business. 

"No." Sansa said as she ran away, leaving his gift in the mud.


	5. Boorish, Brainless

The stand where he had hung his cloak was moving. Like a person, with arms and legs together. Ned had never seen such a thing before. He had no desire to see such a thing again. Then his wineglass started to jerk around, a mouth opening where the stem should have been. Ned grabbed his cloak off of the creature's arm and ran, calling thanks over this shoulder. 

Felipe was gone. 

So he ran, through the iced over garden, tripping over the overgrowth. He was lost for a moment. Where were the big iron gates? He may as well go through them. Perhaps the wolves had eaten while he was away. 

He'd kept running until he came to a little pergola twined with roses. Despite the bitter cold, they bloomed like it was June. 

Sansa. Sansa had wanted a rose. In fact, it was the only thing that she ever asked him for. The memory of his daughter grounded his fear. 

A rose for Sansa. He could do this one act for his daughter. Perhaps the normalcy of this would break the bind that this place seemed to have on him. Then he could find the gates and go. 

The stem hadn't even broken when there was a scream of rage that curdled his insides. So he was about to meet the master. 

****

Sansa saw Felipe coming. Out of the woods, over the hills, through the meadow. She had watched him run, mesmerized. It was only when the horse approached her, rearing, that she leapt into action. 

It had not been a good day for Sansa. Again. Jaime had found her outside the bookshop this morning and had followed her home. He had demanded to be let inside, and had leered at her. He knew that her father was not at home. 

When she had refused him again, one hand on the doorknob to prepare for a quick escape, Jaime had gotten angry. His powerful arms flapped and his legs stomped like a child having a tantrum. Sansa had watched him, slightly horrified. 

"Don't you realize -" He had climbed over their fence in one swift stride. "That you may never get an offer like this again? I mean. I can provide you a good life. Don't you think about your future? Sure, you live with your father, the clockmaker now." And here he smirked. "But what happens when he dies, Sansa? You know what happens to women in this town when there is no man to protect them." As if to illustrate this, he pointed to an old beggar woman huddled on the corner, holding her hat out for change. Sansa's throat constricted. 

The worst thing about his speech was that it was true. Once a father, brother, or husband was dead, a woman who didn't have a way of making an income had nothing. And Sansa had no family to speak of besides her father. And books didn't exactly pay the rent on their little cottage. Sansa wished, for the very first time, that she had been born a man. Then she could have provided for her father, who probably shouldn't have to work. And they wouldn't have to struggle to get by in this little town. And then she wouldn't have to deal with Jaime. 

For a moment, Sansa thought about the life that Jaime could bring her. He had a good home. There would always be meat on the table, something Sansa and her father couldn't boast. And her father would be safe. And so would she, for that matter. 

Jaime appeared to be thinking along these lines too, as he described their life together. "Yes, it'll be marvelous. Our life. My latest kill roasting on the fire. The pups playing on the carpet. We'll have five or six, you know." 

"Dogs?" Sansa asked uneasily. He was drawing closer. 

"Big strapping boys! Like me." Jaime had lowered his stare from her face to her bodice. It was like he was surveying land that he had just bought. 

Quietly, Sansa began to back away towards the door. Jaime took this as an invitation. His chest was almost flush with hers. 

"Oh, Jaime. That sounds - well, I'm sure someone would really appreciate it." Jaime's teeth were bared. 

"But I really have to go." She shut the door so quickly that he hardly had time to see that she had gone. 

She knew she had made the right decision. Imagining herself as the wife of that boorish, brainless man was enough of a punishment. 

But she hoped that her father had sold plenty of clocks at the fair. Just so she wouldn't have to reconsider.  
****

Felipe was in a lot of distress when he found Sansa. Sansa was too, once she saw that her father was not on him. 

"Felipe? Where's Poppa?" She asked, her voice rising. 

The horse just kept kicking and whinnying. He would not be calmed. 

"Please. Please." And the next time the horse set his legs down, she jumped on his back. "Take me to him." 

They were off like a shot.


	6. It's The Beast

Sansa had not worn the proper clothes for this. She'd taken her summer cloak, which was light and kept her safe from the countryside chill from April to October. This was December weather. Sansa tried to remember a book which might have explained this odd phenomenon, and cursed herself for mostly reading things like Florian and Jonquil when she ought to have been learning about French weather patterns. 

Felipe's feet were sure, but they slipped slightly on the huge patches of ice that lay unattended throughout the forest. Usually the villagers would come out and chip them away during the winters, but Sansa felt sure that nobody knew about this part of the forest. She blinked hard against the torrent of snow that stung her face. 

Sansa drew her breath in at the sight of her father's beloved clocks, smashed on the road. She kicked Felipe to go faster. 

The castle itself was so large that she had to tilt her head back to see the top. Even from a distance. It looked like a monster that was crouching before it sprung and killed. She had to remind herself not to be afraid. Her Poppa was not afraid. He had gone into this ugly place. She heard howls from what must be wolves. The village got wolves sometimes in winter. But they had never come so close. 

Felipe picked up his pace, galloping over the ill tended forest and delivering them through the wrought iron gates. Nobody was tending to them that Sansa saw. It was like they knew that she was coming and decided to open for her. 

She couldn't find the stables, so she tied Felipe in the coziest corner that she could find, away from the winter cold. 

"You will have apples tonight, my friend." She promised him, although apples were dear. The poor thing deserved them. He had begun to eat the snow. 

Sansa was not sure whether this castle had been abandoned or not. The huge marble steps had not been treated against the snow, but there were footprints of all sizes cast in it. Some of these prints looked fresh. 

The door was heavy, but it seemed to swing open easily. Some of the storm came inside with Sansa, fluttering to the floor. She blinked a few times as the snow melted off her eyelashes. 

The foyer was huge and abandoned. Several generations of spiders had taken over corners of the room, spinning inch thick webs. Sansa shuddered. Dust had settled over everything, but she had the sense that something remained. It was too quiet. 

"Hello?" She called. "Is anybody here?" Light caught her eye. It was a lit candelabra of purest gold. That settled it. Somebody was here. They'd been here recently enough to light the candles, anyway. Sansa took the candelabra and decided to go looking. 

The castle had seemed huge outside, but it was even bigger inside. There were twists and turns and secret passageways - besides which, everything looked the same. There were the same carpets, the same opulent decoration, and even the beautiful portraits looked the same. Although occasionally there had been huge rips in the walls or floor, as if an animal had ravaged it. Sansa tried not to gasp at this. Many wealthy people kept exotic pets. Nero II kept a tigress. This seemed to be du jour for these types, although it made Sansa all the more cautious when she was looking. She didn't know what she would do if she met a lion stalking these halls. Especially since the caretakers of the house cared so little for what it did to the house. 

"Poppa? Poppa?" She called as loudly as she dared. 

It must have been hours that she roamed before she reached the top of the castle. She could tell it was the top because it had become harder to breathe. The castle was probably as tall as a mountain. 

The door she came to was coarse and wooden, unlike the rest of the castle. When she opened it, she heard the rush of the storm. Large windows had been cut into the sides of this tower, with no glass to protect. This seemed to be part of the architect's plan. It was some sort of dungeon. Only like none Sansa had ever seen. There were several large stone staircases leading to small alcoves that appeared to be where the prisoners would spend their days. 

There was quite a lot of air up here, which also seemed to be the architects' design. Large holes had been cut out of the sides of the cells, where a prisoner could drop to their death if they were not careful. The stairs, too, had no railing to balance on. A straight drop awaited her if she did not keep her balance. Sansa inhaled sharply and started to walk. 

She had no idea if her father was even up here, but she could not leave a single stone unturned. And she had already looked everywhere else, had shouted his name. Her father would always respond if she shouted his name, no matter how injured he might be. 

When she got close to the first cell, she called her father's name. 

And he answered. 

"Sansa?" The voice was weak. Of course it was. Ned was not a young man, and this prison appeared to be designed to expose its captives to the elements as a method of torture. 

Their faces met between the bars. Ned had looked sicker than she had ever seen him. 

"Oh Poppa. You're sick. Who has done this to you?" Even though Ned's eyes were unfixed, they seemed to snap into focus at the question. 

"Sansa! Oh Sansa, you must leave this place. Leave now. The castle is alive. And its master - go, go, before he catches you!" Ned tried to sweep her away with his hands, but the motions were too weak. Her father could hardly stand. Sansa was furious. Who would lock up a sick old man? Her father had not done anything. 

"No. We'll get you out of here, you'll see." She drew back and looked at the lock. When she was little, she'd read a lock picking book and had spent several weeks teaching herself how to pick any lock in the house. Her father had despaired over it. 

"No!" Her father shouted, with such passion that she was certain that he wasn't shouting at her. Sure enough, she drew up and saw something in the shadows, creeping towards them. It was too large to be a man. 

"What is that?" Sansa asked, trying not to betray her fear. 

"It is him." Her father shuddered. 

Sansa's fury took over and ate her fear. "Who are you? Why have you locked up my father this way?" 

The voice came out in a growl. Sansa had to train her ears to hear the words. 

"Your father is a trespasser and a thief." Sansa protested this. 

"My father is not either. And if he has come to your castle for shelter, I am sorry. But I know he would have asked for permission." The creature loomed closer. Sansa tried to look for a weapon to use, just in case. All she had was the candelabra. 

"He took advantage of my hospitality. And he stole from me." Ned coughed bitterly from his cell. 

"Only a rose, sir. Please. It was only a rose." Sansa's stomach sank. Her rose. Of course. Her father would never steal for himself. Not that taking a rose ought to be considered stealing. It was only a plant. And not even a very useful one. Then she remembered how she'd felt when Jaime had stomped her cabbages and tried to sympathize with this creature. But she couldn't. 

"So you lock a man up in the dungeon for a rose? A rose that was for his only daughter?" The shadow stopped and seemed to consider her. "Yes." It growled, recommitting to being terrible. Sansa looked back at her father, then the creature. 

"And how long is his sentence, then?" She asked, her head held high.

The shadow paused before it delivered its sentence. "Forever." 

Sansa almost fell over, which would have been very unwise. 

"Forever? For a rose? He'll die." 

"Then he shouldn't have taken any roses." Sansa nearly laughed out loud. 

"You are committing my father to death for a rose?" But the shadow was silent. And the fear came back, creeping up her limbs into her throat. He did mean to do this. Kill her father slowly because he had taken a single rose. This was Sansa's fault. If she had not been so selfish, her father would be home with her now. 

"T-take me instead." She stepped forward. 

"What? No, Sansa." Her father cried. 

"I am the one to blame for this crime. I asked my father to bring me a rose. He took a rose from you. Therefore, I must pay for the rose being stolen." She ignored her father, who had begun to sob in his cell. It would be no use to look at him, or else she would start to sob too. 

For once the shadow seemed unseated. "You - you would take his place?" It clung to the side of one of the cells. Even though it was dark, Sansa could tell that it was looking straight at her. She stood up taller, just to show that she was not afraid. 

"Yes. If you let my father go, I will." 

Ned was begging her behind his bars. "Sansa, no please. I'm old, I've lived my life. Sansa, don't let him take you!" But Sansa stood strong. 

"He's a beast, Sansa. I can't let you live with him." The way he said 'beast' shook Sansa's nerve a bit. 

"Come into the light." She said to the shadow. And even though the creature was at least two flights of stairs above her, he had jumped down in seconds. She could feel the air around her go up a couple of degrees just from the creature's proximity. It was breathing heavily, which suggested a large set up lungs. 

Sansa raised the candelabra, and almost burned her hand. 

It was a beast. Undoubtedly. Fur shagged across its face and body, its teeth were inches long and stuck out of a cruel mouth. Horns twisted out of its skull, and there were claws instead of hands and feet. It looked like something out of a tale meant to frighten young children. The beast shifted under the light's glare, as though hurt by it. Sansa's father let out a piteous scream and begged her once again to go. This was the saddest she had ever seen her father. Her heart ached. 

"Will you be my prisoner?" The beast asked. "For the rest of your days?" His questions sounded like marriage vows. He even held out his paw, but Sansa shrank from it. 

"I will." She said, not taking her eyes off the beast. And so the bargain was struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for these intermittent updates - life in general has been crazy, and I've just got back from Disney World (!!), where I got a little more inspiration for this. Anyways - onward!


	7. Be Our Guest

The knock came three times. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. It shook the door. Sansa winced, to her annoyance. She walked over to the window of her room and looked down. 

Her room. 

Sansa had had a room at home, but it didn't look like this. No white marble floors or velvet curtains. She had dreamed of a room like this. It had come straight out of a story. But she hadn't dreamed of being a prisoner. 

To be fair, this was better than she had expected. After her father had been dragged off, she had tried to curl up in the rushes and come up with a plan of escape, but the Beast - he hadn't given her another name to call him- had shook his shaggy head. The candelabra, who was somehow alive, had directed her down to her room. He was later joined by a clock was was similarly sentient. They had given her their names. Tormund and Aemon. Odd names for such creatures, but she greeted them as politely as she knew how. It wasn't their fault how they were made. 

They had directed her to the most beautiful room, pointing out interesting artwork along the way. It was a treasure trove of beautiful things. Pity who owned it. 

"Yes?" She asked the knock. It was a pointless ask. She knew who it was. Nobody else in the castle could make a foot thick mahogany door shake so. 

"YOU WILL JOIN ME FOR DINNER." She could hardly make out the words underneath the roar. There was a pause. "I...WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD JOIN ME FOR DINNER." This came out a little clearer. 

"No." Sansa called out, being the rudest that she had ever been in her life. She tried quite hard not to care. 

There was a pause on the other side of the door. 

"WHAT." It didn't even come out as a question. 

"No thank you." She called again, a little louder. And politer. She hoped that he would go away soon. The ground was quite far down, and she needed to see if the sheet that she had ripped up would make a satisfactorily long rope. She'd prefer to do it before the snow became any worse. 

There was a growl that made her stomach seize. 

"YOU WILL COME TO DINNER." She had not thought that he could get any louder, but she was wrong. 

"NO." Her courage was rising. "I will not." 

There was a slam so forceful that the door almost broke off its hinges. Sansa jumped. 

"FINE." The breathing was heavy. Sansa imagined that his horrible fangs were bared. "IF SHE DOESN'T EAT WITH ME. SHE DOESN'T EAT AT ALL." Sansa assumed that this was not entirely intended for her. Perhaps he couldn't speak any other way. 

"Well, that was a fine show, dah-ling." Came a voice in her room. Sansa whipped around. 

The wardrobe had opened. It was a beautiful wardrobe, as far as wardrobes went. Lined with silk and bursting with gowns and feathers. One of the lower drawers had opened, making a mouth. 

"Oh." 

The wardrobe laughed. Or something like it. "I apologize, dah-ling. I like to keep quiet while the master is about. He does like to draw himself up, doesn't he?" The woman - it was probably a woman- laughed again. "I am Madame Maergery." The wardrobe bobbed slightly, in what must be meant as a curtsey. 

Sansa, who had practiced curtseys hundreds of time, swept her a perfect one. 

"Ah, a princess?" The wardrobe looked hopeful. If a wardrobe could look hopeful. 

Sansa shook her head. "No. Just a girl." 

"My dear. There is no such thing as 'just'. You are a beauty, anyway. And clever enough to try to escape." So she had seen the rope. "Clever." Sansa could not tell whether she meant it or not. 

"Yes, well. I have to get back to my father. He's all alone." That brought up some images that Sansa did not want to think about. Her father was getting older. And he was all alone. She hoped that they had let him ride Felipe home. 

"Yes, but why not have something to eat, first?" This did not come from the wardrobe. Tormund the candelabra had perched himself on the dresser. 

No. She would not be tricked. "I won't eat with him." If a candelabra could smile, Tormund would be. 

"Of course not, my dear. But he does not eat much. He will be done now." Sansa wondered how that could be. The beast was at least three feet taller than her. If he didn't eat food, then what did he eat? Sansa shivered. 

The walk to the kitchen felt longer than it was. Aemon and Tormund led her down a few flights of stairs, commenting on the decorations as they did so. 

Compared to all the other rooms in the house, the kitchen felt most lived in. There were a far larger concentration of 'people', if she could call pots and pans that moved people. It was all presided over by a teapot called Gilly. She had the kindest voice that Sansa had ever heard. 

"My dear girl, you look famished. Let me get you a cup of tea." This was poured from her own spout. 

Her teacup giggled. 

"My son, Sam." The rim of the cup was chipped, but there was a face painted on it. It had, somehow, the large cheeks of a child. Sansa felt strange drinking out of it. 

Gilly bustled over. "Don't worry, my dear. It doesn't hurt. So long as you don't drop us!" Sansa decided that she liked Gilly. 

"Set the table, everyone! Fix the linens! We have a guest!" The kitchen came alive, firing up. 

Aemon and Tormund escorted her into the stunning marble hall, which was groaning with a huge feast. Sansa sampled some of everything, even the unfamiliar things. It was a feast that kings dreamed of. She felt so guilty that she couldn't make a dent in it, even though she ate three platefuls. There were winter nights were she had dreamed of something other than cabbage soup. 

"Is it like this all the time?" She asked Tormund and Aemon, who were her unofficial tour guides. 

"Of course, my lady. This is the finest castle in the world." Said Aemon, who was only a little pompous. 

"Oui, mademoiselle. Although we are in need of some tidying up, I admit." Tormund hopped along. The hands on Aemon's clockface whizzed. He did that when he was annoyed.

"If it's not baroque, don't fix it!" Aemon laughed at his joke. 

The hall split into two staircases, equally grand. Although one had what looked like claw marks on its banisters. 

"My lady, we are going this way." Said Aemon, a little too quickly. 

"What's up there?" Her escorts exchanged glances. 

"Nothing." They chorused. 

Sansa made up her mind to see what that 'nothing' was.


	8. The West Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa discovers the West Wing.

She had to wait until the house went quiet before she ventured out. Fortunately for her, they all seemed to require sleep. They retained that part of their humanity, at least. Sansa wondered when they had lost it. 

Sansa had lived in Paris for a significant part of her childhood, but she had moved down south when she was eleven, and here they had remained for almost a decade. And though most of the people of their little town were not Sansa's friends, per say, they would have heard about a high lord living nearby. Or whatever the Beast had been. 

She knew that he was human. Or had been at one point. The others had made reference to it. She'd had a long chat with Madame Maergery about the gowns that she had used to wear when she sung in court. Sansa had recognized some of the fashions she described from when her father was a clothier. 

"I was such a beauty back then," Madame had said, leaning her wooden body on the bed with a sigh. Sansa hoped the body wasn't alive, too. "Ah, you see what I get for my vanity." She laughed, pointing at the vanity, who turned its mirror and, Sansa was sure, glared at her. 

"Ah, do not mind Alla. She only complains." 

Now there was a chorus of snores in the room. But not Sansa's. 

She didn't know what was compelling her to go to the West Wing. Especially after she had not been invited. After she'd been forbidden, actually. 

But there was something in her - some well of defiance- that was furious at that creature for giving her more restrictions on her already lost freedom. So it was to the West Wing that she would go. Even if it did frighten her. 

And then she'd figure out a way to endure here. 

It took time to figure out which wing was the West Wing. The castle seemed to twist around her, misdirecting her back to where she had come. It didn't seem to want her going to the West Wing. 

Sansa didn't consider herself a strong willed individual. She was when it counted, of course, but she didn't find that making a fuss over things got you anywhere. In fact, it often backfired. 

But she had decided to be strong now. She needed it, when she finally did get to the West Wing. 

It might have been beautiful once, but everything was broken now. The fine stone was slashed with claws, a reminder of how violent this Beast could be. The walls were carved out, too. Claws seemed to be the primary method of expressing his anger, although there was evidence of him using his fists too. Sansa recoiled when she saw what he had done to his beautiful things. 

Sansa loved beautiful things. She dreamed about them. But, more importantly, she knew what they cost. Just one of those vases that lay in pieces on the floor could have kept Sansa and her father up for a year. They could probably afford meat at every meal, too. 

Seeing them destroyed made her angry. 

It got colder as she got further up. She realized that this was because the castle had begun to crumble. Ripped apart by its master, no doubt.

Her stomach stopped at the same time as her feet did. 

So this was the Beast's lair. 

It once must have been a bedroom. There was a bed of sorts in the corner. Actually it was more of a nest. Everything was destroyed. Sansa pushed together the slashed parts of a painting to reveal a young man's face. A brother? He had been handsome, whoever he was. Although his eyes were a cold gray. 

As the moved towards the balcony, it should have gotten colder, but it was somehow warm. 

That was when she noticed the rose. 

It was encased in glass, and not very pretty anymore. Most of the petals had fallen off. 

But Sansa had learned to look for the beauty in all things, especially roses. She admired the deep red of the petals. 

But why would the Beast care so much about a rose? Sansa loved them herself, but even she didn't imprison them in glass. Perhaps that was just his way. Maybe all he did was entrap things. That seemed very beastly. 

But such care to be taken with a rose? The glass bell that it was under was on a spindly table. Something that he, judging by his other behavior, would love to destroy. Perhaps there was something about it. Perhaps - 

She leaned forward, just to tap the glass. 

A roar nearly shattered it. 

Sansa couldn't see. She'd been enfolded in two hairy arms that were as thick as trees. She couldn't scream, it had taken her by such surprise. Quickly the surprise was numbing into horror. 

He truly was a creature. She could feel it, in every muscle in his terrifying body. He had an animal's control. 

Sansa did not fight. She did not flail. She prayed. Mostly for her father's safety. She knew that she was already dead. 

And she fell, hard, against the floor. Blood pooled underneath her skin. Bones creaked in her body. 

"GO." The creature snarled. 

Sansa was all too happy to oblige.


	9. The Wolves

Outside it was so cold that her feet burned. But she did not stop running. She had to get away, had to keep away from that - that - creature. Her breathing came in fragments, the air solidifying into ice. 

Felipe was tied up in the place where she had left him hours ago. 

Hours. It had not seemed like hours. 

But if she managed to get out of here, she would be home in time to collect the eggs for breakfast. She wouldn't even miss a morning. 

It was strange how foreign that felt. 

Felipe was easily untied, and she jumped on his back. Her legs closed around the animal, and Felipe was clever enough to know when to go. They shot off into the frozen night. 

Sansa didn't exactly know where to go, but Felipe remembered. His legs were sure. 

Then the wolves came. 

Sansa didn't mind wolves. She thought they were beautiful creatures. Except when they were hungry. 

The ones that were surrounding her now looked as though they were starving. 

They snapped at Felipe's legs, and the creature reared back in fright. Sansa screamed and tried to hold on. Finally she slipped down the back and fell with an icy shock. The creatures came towards her, snarling. She had to defend herself. The only weapon in sight was a fallen branch. 

Sansa had not been built for strength. She was slight of figure and soft of skin. It made her next to useless out in the country. 

And while she could swing the branch around and hit the wolves that were trying to tear her apart, she couldn't do it for long. She was getting cold. And tired. And soon she started missing the creature's mouths. And they were beginning to rip at her skirts. 

Part of Sansa just wanted to lie down and let them take her. She was tired, they were hungry. It would make things easier. 

No. 

An image of her father swum up and reminded her of why she would bother wanting to go back. It gave her strength. 

She swung again. And again. She could do it. She could - 

A figure flew behind Sansa and there was a metallic clash of teeth. When she turned around, a wolf was bleeding from the neck. It had been prepared to jump on her. Her savior was big and black and hairy. The Beast. 

She screamed. But the Beast paid no attention. He was too busy fighting tooth and nail to keep the huge pack of wolves away from them. 

It was like one of those epic battles that she read about, a hundred against one. The Beast was too much for the wolves, but they got their own back at him - biting and ripping him to bits. She found that these battles were more exciting to read about than to see. 

When it was all over the Beast was lying on the snow, panting in a pool of his own blood. 

Sansa turned to Felipe, who was mostly unharmed. There was the path. Completely clear. She could be back home by breakfast. See her father again. 

But the creature lying in the snow had saved her life. 

The life that he had endangered by screaming at her and imprisoning her. 

Still. 

If he laid out here, he would die. And she would be no better than a murderer for leaving him. 

She kneeled by the Beast's body. 

"I'm going to need you to help me." She whispered. The Beast's head rose half an inch. It nodded. 

Going back to the castle was slow and arduous, but they made it. 

Somewhere in the underbrush, the Enchantress smiled.


	10. The Worst Patient

He was, without a doubt, the worst patient that she had ever had. Sansa hadn't done a whole lot of healing, but her father was a notoriously terrible patient. And none of their chickens were particularly well behaved either when they were ill. 

But this creature, this man, was the worst possible combination of both. He roared and struck out like an animal, but sulked like a man. It was infuriating. Even daubing at his wounds with warm water became an ordeal. 

She bit back a shriek when one of his claws almost swiped her face. She was aware it was an involuntary movement, but it still terrified her. She had watched those claws shear the skin off a wolf not two hours ago. 

"Please." She'd murmured politely half a dozen times. But now, she stood up and backed off. 

"Where are you going?" The Beast growled at her, rearing back. 

"Bed. You obviously don't want to be cared for. So I won't waste my time." Her hair was still matted against her bloodied cheek from the evening's terrors, but she tried her best haughty flip before walking away. 

She'd barely reached the door when she heard his voice whining at her like a pup. "It hurts." 

"Well, if you wouldn't move so much, it wouldn't hurt." The answer came back fast, and it was mostly a growl. 

"If you hadn't run away, I wouldn't be hurt." Sansa's temper flared, but she tried to stall it as much as possible. 

"If you hadn't shouted at me, I wouldn't have run away." She tried the best she could, but sometimes a person needed to be told what was what. And she wasn't that afraid of him. Not anymore. 

Especially not when his ragged slit of a mouth opened and he let out something that must have been a laugh. 

"Too right. I apologize, m'lady." And he nodded his head at her in what probably would have been a bow if he could stand. Even though Sansa had dreamed of being referred to as m'lady all her life, it was certainly not in a situation like this. Which was probably why she moved to correct him. 

"I am not a lady." 

"Then you are wearing the wrong clothes." The quick, sudden wit made her laugh. The Beast had struck her as being moody before this, if not downright dangerous. 

"Well, I am a girl - woman, I mean, but I am not a lady. You know -" And she swept him her finest curtsey. He laughed again. 

"That is the finest curtsey I have seen in years. Surely you are a lady, even if you were not born into it." And he looked at her in such a way, the way that Florian looked at Jonquil before riding into battle. As though she was the most singular thing he had ever seen. Perhaps she was. After all, it didn't seem like there were any human women in the castle. Or any humans, period. If not, she would have seen them. 

Perhaps there had been humans once. Maybe this Beast ate them. 

No. She could not think that. It was unkind. Besides, if the Beast wanted to eat someone, why did he let her father go? It didn't make sense. 

"So did you know a lot of ladies? Like Jonquil?" The Beast sniffed. 

"Not as such. I knew a lot of women with titles. Some good women, some not so much. Same with the men. But no, I never met anybody like Jonquil." He laughed whenever he said Jonquil's name. 

"Why don't you like Jonquil?" She sat by his side, and dredged the rag in some warm water. 

He bit his lip until it bled as she lowered it, but answered. "A silly fairy story. There are far better things to read. And better written fairy stories, if that is what you like, my lady." 

Sansa cleaned his wound, making sure to be gentle. "You call my favorite story silly? I don't think it's silly. I think that there is something to be learned from every story that is told, even if it is told poorly. We learn about the teller of the story, if nothing else. But more often than not, it is a mirror that we put up to our faces, a guide that we judge ourselves by. An aspiration." She was breathing heavily now, and had pressed a bit too hard on the Beast's forearm. But he had not cried out. He was watching her face instead. 

"You appreciate literature." 

"No, I love stories." His fangs stuck out when he smiled. It was somewhat endearing. Yet still terrifying. 

"Indeed. Love stories, I see." Another derision. 

Sansa got up to clean her hands. She dug her nails into her flesh until they made marks. But her tongue wouldn't be stilled. Not entirely. 

"Is there any greater aspiration than love?" She turned around, catching his large dark eyes. Something crossed them, and Sansa drew back slightly. 

"No. Although that is what a person who is guaranteed love would say." Sansa's eyes crinkled and he elaborated. "Look at you. There will be no shortage of love in your life." She moved to say something when he abruptly changed the subject. He'd stopped looking at her. "Do you read much?" 

"As much as I can. There's a bookshop in town, but - " 

"Is it still run by that old man, Davos?" Sansa sat back down next to him, falling a little quicker out of shock. The idea that this hidden beast, this hidden man, would know about her town felt as foreign to her as another country would. 

"Why, yes." The Beast nodded his huge head. 

"My father used to get books from him. Nice man. Liked onions." Sansa laughed softly to herself. 

"You can smell them on his breath." She confessed. 

The Beast grinned so widely she could see his throat. "Still?" She nodded. 

There were so many wounds cutting his body that she didn't finish until well after dawn. Sansa watched him falling asleep, his eyelids fluttering open and closed. He was on his back. This was the most that she had ever seen of another male creature, excepting the animals. His back was wide and powerful, although currently it was lacerated by a dozen bloody wounds. She'd had to work the ointments into the Beast's back, and she had felt the skin underneath. It was odd - it almost felt like a man's. Or what she assumed a man's felt like. He had murmured that she oughtn't do that, a servant could do it, but she insisted. Better her, with her working human fingers, than the cold metal or porcelain of a servant. 

"You ought to get that fixed." It came out a mumble, and the paw lazily came up to touch the side of her now- scabbed face. 

Sansa couldn't help having flinched. It was instinctive, but it made the paw jerk away immediately. 

"I-I will." 

"Be sure to, my lady." 

"Sansa." She whispered. The Beast's eyes fluttered open. They were gray, the glossy gray of ice. "Sansa." He breathed. "Suits you." 

"And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" Sansa felt silly after having said it, but she had always wanted to. It sounded so romantic. 

One of the Beast's fangs flicked out of his lip. 

"They used to call me Jon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I don't remember that much about Florian and Jonquil, and there isn't much specifically in the books, so I'm taking a wee bit of artistic license. Thanks for your reads and reviews, I so appreciate them!


	11. A Reading

As the Beast - Jon - healed, they began to settle into a routine. She would come to his chambers early in the morning and they would breakfast together. Then she would take up one of the books from his bedside table and read aloud until lunch was brought upstairs. 

He had horrifying table manners. Sansa wouldn't say so out loud because it would hurt him, but he did. He couldn't hold cutlery. The beautiful silver forks and spoons would break under the force of his paw-like hands. When that happened, he would usually lower his head and snarf the food. 

Sansa had not been able to contain her horror the first time, and he had caught her eye. It had taken time for him to be able to eat in front of her again, and when he did, she made a point of pretending not to notice how disgusting it was. 

"Could you start again?" He asked her. Sansa had not figured out what to call him yet. Now that she knew his name, the Beast seemed cruel. But he didn't appear to like being called by his given name, either. When she'd tried, he had reacted horribly. It was as if the name was a curse. Sansa made a point never to use it again. Now she just avoided calling him by any name. 

"From the beginning?" He had a dazzling collection of books, although she knew not where they came from. One of the servants brought up books when he called for them. 

"Oh, no. From the beginning of the speech." So she started. 

"Out of this wood do not desire to go:  
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.  
I am a spirit of no common rate;  
The summer still doth tend upon my state;  
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;  
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,  
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,  
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;  
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so  
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.  
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!" Sansa tried to make her voice sound larger to suit the words, but probably fell short. But he clapped for her, his huge paws making a muted thrum as he did. 

"Remarkable. And funny how a curse could make a fairy queen fall in love with -" He trailed off there, but still he looked at her. Sansa had tried to get used to this, but she couldn't. It was as though he was consuming her with his eyes. 

"Well, it's a spell really. And it wears off." This appeared to make him even more melancholy. He did this often, and it never failed to disappoint Sansa. She could not reach him, wherever it was that he went. 

The huge, furry paw reached over and patted the play open in her lap. She jumped in surprise. The paw retracted immediately. "Are you up for reading more m'lady?" He asked her kindly. She supposed to an outsider he would still sound gruff, but Sansa knew better. She could decode the various shadings of his voice. At least for the most part. 

"Only if you read with me." She angled herself closer to him so he could see the page. 

The enormity of his body was never more apparent than when she was close to him. She knew that she was a small woman by normal standards, small of figure and face. But his body was at least thrice the size of hers, likely more. Probably twice the size of Jaime back in the village, come to that. And it emanated its own heat, the way that animals did. It was why she felt so warm when she was near him. 

He had a pleasing voice when he was calm. It rumbled like distant thunder, occasionally cracking with laughter. She smiled when he did. His happiness was infectious. 

****  
"How long has he been a Beast?" She was peeling potatoes in the kitchen, a task that she had taken up, much to Gilly's chagrin. The little teapot's painted eyes shifted. Sansa had long gotten used to this and no longer found it frightening. "As long as you've had your shape, I am guessing." Twin spots of pink paint bloomed on the fat cheeks of the pot. 

"Yes, mistress." Sansa knew that she didn't want to talk about it because she had called Sansa 'mistress.' 

"It must have been very frightening for you at first." She said. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. Poor Gilly. And her poor baby, stuck as a teacup. 

Gilly's porcelain body stopped mid-waddle. "D'you want some tea, dear?" Sansa nodded. Gilly leaned to the side over one of the teacups, making sure to squeeze lemon and add sugar just the way that she liked it before sending the little cup her way. "Well, now. It was hard at first. Hard isn't the right word for it. Maybe terror. Horror. I couldn't say. The master destroyed everything in this house that wasn't one of us." She indicated around at the kitchen that was crawling with moving, living appliances. "And it was difficult. But now we get on. I couldn't tell you how much time has passed, m'lady." The servants had picked up that affectation from their master. 

"It's before my Papa and I moved here from the North, I can tell you that." Although nobody mentioned a castle at all, so Sansa was not sure that she could blame her and her father's relative newness to the town as a reason for them never hearing about the castle in the snowy wood. Surely somebody had spoken about it, during the past few years. But Sansa could not recall. 

"Oh yes. They don't remember us now, not in the little towns that the Master used to own. Nobody's come. And it's been a long winter." The little teapot looked mournfully out the window, where a fresh fall of snow was drifting outside the window.

Sansa took her dinners in here most days, unless she was called back upstairs to read with the invalid. There was usually a huge banquet every night. They had not been kidding - these people - or creatures- were genuinely starved for company. And they plied her with food and drink to get her to provide some. And she was happy to do so. After all, she was lonely too. 

"What did this?" She asked. "Surely it was some sort of curse." 

Sansa had not realized how loud it had been in the kitchen until everything had stopped. The stove quelled its fires and the cutlery stopped clicking against one another. Sansa's blush rose from her neck to her cheeks.

"I-I apologize." But the little teapot shook her spout. 

"No need my dear girl. You were just curious. It- it is something that we don't like to speak of. It upsets the master. And us, too, come to think of it. Don't worry, though. I have a good feeling about it being broken soon." And she smiled, her painted grin almost touching her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The play that they read is A Midsummer Night's Dream. Thank you for all your reads and reviews!


	12. The New Winter

Ned and his wife, God rest her soul, had planned on filling their house with children. "At least a dozen!" His Cat would say, laughing, as he swung her around their Parisian kitchen so long ago. Their first boy was buried only hours after he had drawn breath. Robb. His Cat had not wanted to try for a child for a long time afterwards. 

Then came Sansa. Looking just like her mother, with wide blue eyes that overtook her face. "Except I was an ugly baby." Cat had said matter of factly as the little girl crawled around their large townhouse. Even then the child had grace. 

"Ugly?" Ned could not fathom his wife being ugly. Cat had been the envy of Paris when he married her. He had been her second choice. And he had known it. 

Not that she had ever made him feel that way. It was just the story that went around - the fiance of the Catelyn Tully, the jewel of Paris has been killed on the eve of their wedding. His brother Ned takes his place as groom. This had been a huge scandal at the time. Cat had been crying when the priest had bound their hands together and declared them bound for life. The next day, they had attended his brother's funeral. Brandon had been the sort of man that took up all the air in the room. Ned wasn't. 

But they had been married, because her family needed Ned's inheritance. And Cat didn't want to waste the wedding dress. 

"Oh yes. My governess always said so. She said that thankfully I grew into a pretty child, or she would have only paid attention to my sister Lysa." Lysa's beauty had been fleeting. Sadly, so had her life. 

"Sansa -" The child cooed at hearing her own name. Cat pulled her onto her lap. "Will be beautiful all her life." It had been true. Ned knew that beauty was not an accomplishment, but he was grateful that his child had never had to suffer as his wife had on that count. 

But his daughter had suffered. Ned had loved stories, and he had passed that love down onto his daughter. He had not realized that reading was such a big deal in the small provinces. In Paris, it was nothing. But he had not forgotten the looks on the faces of the villagers when he had tried to register his small daughter at the village school. The long necked headmaster had looked down his nose and told him the they didn't educate women. So he had taught Sansa at home. 

Sansa had suffered the censure of their neighbors, which was hard for any child, but especially a child who had just lost her mother and was far from home. Sansa was a Paris child. She needed more than the wide fields and cottages that their new life had offered. 

And now she suffered again. Sansa had given his life for his. 

Ned had been deposited in the center of the village that night. The creature that had taken him scuttled into the night and disappeared. There went the last of his proof. 

There was light coming from the pub on the corner. Ned hobbled to it, his legs feeling several pounds heavier than they had before. 

Everyone looked up from their drinks when he came in. He must look like a mad man. 

"Ned?" Jaime, the town's great protector, stood up to his full height of nearly seven feet, looking like one of the princes that Sansa swooned over in her novels. Except Sansa loathed him. Ned had understood why, the man smiled with all his teeth but neither of his eyes. "My friend, what is wrong?" Jaime called Ned his friend every time they met, although Ned knew it was a way of showing dominance. 

But Ned could not ignore him today. "Sansa." He gasped. "My Sansa." To Ned's surprise, Jaime's face lit with real concern. "Your daughter? What is wrong?" Jaime flew to Ned's side. 

"Sh-she has - been taken." 

****  
Sansa stared out the window. When she went high enough on her toes, she thought that she could see the unenchanted part of the forest. The green of the world beyond was beginning to brown. Winter was coming. She wondered if her father was all right. Part of her was grateful that she wasn't there so he wouldn't have another mouth to feed. 

But it would be a difficult winter without her there. Ned often had fevers, and was prone to a horrible soreness of the throat. 

And here she was, watching from the heated palace in a silk gown. It made her furious. 

"Can we not send the villagers some food?" She asked a passing duster, a large, plain handled one that was called Brienne. The duster dipped into a bow before answering. "Alas my lady, no. We cannot travel beyond the gates of this castle without the master's permission." That explained why none of them ever left him. Then again, there probably wouldn't be much work for talking teapots in the villages beyond. 

"Oh. I am sorry to hear that." The duster laughed, a surprisingly hearty laugh. 

"It was the same when we were human, my lady. Do not trouble yourself." Sansa sunk to the floor. She didn't feel right looming over the poor duster. 

"Was he a bad master?" The duster takes her time, swiping dust off the sill that Sansa had been leaning against. 

"No." The creature said, taking her time to answer. "He was not so bad. Just spoiled. Raised by a father who went mad. His mother died. And - well, he was young. Not a bad young man. He was only seventeen." 

"And now?" Sansa asked. 

"Well, he is a beast, is he not?" The duster laughed. "No, he had gotten better as he has gotten used to his appearance. And now, now he is better. It has taken ten years, though!" Ten years. He was only five or six years older than Sansa was. "Well - almost ten. It will be ten in a - a few months." The duster said, its handle ducking to avoid her eyes. 

"Of course. I apologize for asking." The duster moved on, floating down the hallway and kicking up dust as she went. 

Sansa looked out the window again, at the never ceasing snowfall. She wondered what would happen when winter truly arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys I know this was a lot of filler and I'm sorry! I promise more fun Jonsa stuff soon. 
> 
> P.S. I love comments. And you, my dear readers. :)


	13. Making Friends

When he had been a man, he had wasted his time. He had been arrogant, challenging men to duels that he knew they would lose. He had been selfish, emulating his father in his dealings. And he had been naive, believing that his father's so-called courtship of his mother had been romantic. His mother had died, probably of exhaustion. He could have been a better person, he'd always thought, had she lived. But it was unfair to put the blame on her. He had been a grown man of four and ten when she had died, and he had let the next seven years go to waste. 

After the enchantress had cursed him, he had acted in the ways that he had done as a man. First he had sulked. Then he'd tried to fight anything that couldn't fight back. Which was why the tapestries were torn to shreds. He had, rather briefly, considered a dark way out of the curse. But when he had tried any of these methods, be they potion or hangman's noose, they had not worked. He could not - would not- die. 

And so he had learned to live with it. 

"My lady." He said, stumbling back. He had not expected to see her here. 

She did not fit in her surroundings. Even here, in this castle, she seemed too fine for it. Before the curse, he had not loved beautiful women. Oh, he'd loved them, but he had not liked them. He'd found them too soft. He liked the ones with crooked teeth and a challenge. But Sansa was not like this. She looked like an angel that God had accidentally dropped from the sky. And she was soft in manner. But there was a steeliness about her, a cleverness that surfaced sometimes. When it did, she would look at him, almost nervous. Like she was unsure of what he would think of a woman being clever. He made sure to smile at her. With his tusks, he didn't think that it actually helped assuage her fears. 

Sansa got up and swept a curtsy. It was better than some of the ladies that he'd seen in court. 

"Ser." She had not expected to see him in the kitchen, he could tell. But her voice did not waver. 

"Please, my lady, don't call me ser." Her gaze rose to meet his. 

"Then you mustn't call me 'my lady'." She told him. Were her eyes sparkling? He could not tell. 

"I thought you liked it." He said, resting a paw on the kitchen's counter. The cups scuttled away with a glassy clang. 

She smiled, a slight thing. "Yes, I suppose that I do. But if you call me 'my lady,' I must call you 'ser.' And you don't like it." She shrugged, a little impishly in his opinion. 

"Fine. Then what shall I call you?" He tried not to make his voice a roar. It fell so naturally into that key. She ignored it. 

"I give you permission, good ser, to call me by my given name." He blushed, and was grateful for the dark fur that matted his face. "Indeed, my lady?" He asked, matching her overtly formal tone. She smiled. 

"Oh yes." 

Her name was soft, breakable. He was not made for soft things anymore. 

"San-sa." It sat so well on the tongue. So beautifully. It could not be growled out. "Sansa. A pleasure." 

She smiled again. "And you?" Briefly, he wondered whether he ought to reveal his name. It would be so - wonderful to hear it spoken aloud again. 

Or it might be a punishment. 

"What would you like to call me?" Her face creased into thought. 

"I don't know. Um, well, the servants call you Ser. And Master, I suppose." Again, he was grateful for the fur. The blush extended to his neck. 

"Please don't call me Master, my lady. I mean, Sansa." Every time she let him say it, it felt like a treat. 

For a moment, she looked frightened again. He must have said something wrong. Something scary. He stepped away. Just so she wouldn't have to deal with him so closely. 

"My lord?" She asked. 

"Yes?" He said irritably, falling back into old habits. 

"Is that what you would like me to call you?" She had not stepped any closer, but she was studying his face. He shook his head so violently the black curls kicked up. 

"No, please. How about - " His mind raced past options, all inappropriate for various reasons. "Friend?" This was probably overstepping, but he could not think of anything else. 

He head ducked again, auburn waves falling over her face. A glimmer showed through the curtain of hair. Her eyes. Ocean blue and capable of pinning him to the wall whenever she looked up at him. 

She looked up at him. 

"Friend." She repeated. "So it shall be."


	14. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa sews something. Jaime remembers. The Beast considers a gift.

"That's enough." Sansa frowned at the rip in her skirt. It was six inches down her thigh, and the third one of that week. The castle was full of dangerous edges and broken things. Which tended to get caught on fabric. And pull it open. 

Fortunately Sansa had learned. She now carried a sewing kit in her apron pocket, and sat right where she was standing to stitch it up. 

In general, Sansa was not a person who had liked keeping house. Oh, she liked helping her father. And she'd felt accomplishment when she had managed to keep the household together at the end of each day. But there was precious little time to do anything else. Which was why Sansa had discovered reading - it was the easiest way to pass the time while she was waiting for stew to cook or water to boil. She could venture into the stories of Florian and Jonquil, or read about one of the great noble families. 

The Beast, she was finding, did not. He was not much of a reader. Which stood to reason, given that his claws could not clutch a book. 

She did not call him the beast. He was trying to become her friend, and for that she was grateful. Sansa could not remember having any friends. Kindness from people like Jaime back in the village always came with something underneath. It made Sansa uncomfortable. But with her new friend, there was no such unspoken obligation. She was grateful. 

"Hello." She told the darkness. She knew that the creature inside it would not approach her unless she allowed it to. 

Over the weeks, she had come up with several theories. She could not tell if the creature was a man who was hideously deformed or a beast that had found a way to act human. Perhaps neither. Perhaps both. 

The thing was that the creature itself didn't have a name. The more respectful servants called him 'The Master'. Everyone else just called him a beast. Sansa had avoided both. 

The creature came out of the shadows, his large body effecting his walk. He had not entirely recovered from the attack by the wolves. 

"You ought to be more careful, my lady." It always took Sansa some time to get used to the beast. Somehow her brain forgot how frightening he was to look at, and every time she saw him, it was a shock. She was quickly getting used to it, though. 

"My skirts? Ser, perhaps you ought to clean your castle." She slipped in the 'sir' to test him. To see how he would react. He didn't. Perhaps he had been a knight? Sansa had no idea. 

Her friend looked up at the dark, ruined turrets of his castle. 

"Perhaps I should." Tentatively, he made his way over to Sansa. He was careful to keep his distance from her. She supposed that was something that he'd had to learn. Her heart felt a twinge of sympathy for him. 

"Roses. Soon you'll have a whole garden on your skirts, my lady." So far she'd sewn daisies, tulips and hydrangeas on the seams that had been left from her other accidents. Sansa loved flowers, but she mostly saw them in books. "You have a gift." 

She bowed her head. "Thank you, ser. We lived near a flower shop when I was a child." He raised his shaggy black eyebrows at her. They exposed his dark, warm eyes.

"Indeed? That must have been lovely." Sansa nodded, smiling. 

"Oh yes. My mother was from the south, and the shopkeeper was as well. They had the flowers sent in every week by wagon. I would help him unpack it." Sansa still cherished those memories. The colors were like something out of a dream. Oddly enough, since she had moved to the south, she had not seen so many flowers all at once again. 

He lurched slightly on his hind legs as he moved a little closer to her. He turned his back when he began to speak. "My tutor was an amateur gardner. One of my tutors, I should say. He oversaw the planting of the rose garden. In my mother's honor, of course." 

They had begun sharing things like this. Little tidbits about their lives. About what had happened before. Sansa was fairly certain that his parents were gone.

"They are beautiful." Sansa said quietly. The head and all its teeth turned and looked at her, briefly wild. She tried not to shrink back. 

"You think so? Of course you do. Those roses-" He did not say the rest. Sansa knew what he was going to say. That those roses had cost her freedom.

****

Melisandre was tired. She had been standing on the street corner for hours, and her earthly body was a lot more delicate than she gave it credit for. The rags did not keep her warm. Which she supposed was why so many beggars had to beg. 

She did not question those that had sent her, except on nights like this. The wind swept cold through her clothes and made her bend in half from the force of it. The few villagers that walked the streets looked through her. Melisandre understood this. Most of the people of this village were poor. They had little to give. And more than enough of them were kind. 

She passed the open window of the tavern, which was warm and inviting. She was not welcome there. But through the window, she saw Jaime and Tyrion Lannister settle into the best seats in the house. Or, well, Jaime was in the best seat. Tyrion got it for him, though. 

*****

"I cannot believe that woman would reject me. And then run off!" Jaime said, spitting a bottle cap into the fire. He drank his wine straight from the bottle. "She should at least have the decency to stay and face the public shaming." Tyrion drank his ale by the glass. 

"Yes brother. I can't imagine why she would want to leave." Sometimes it was difficult to tell whether Tyrion was agreeing with his brother or making fun of him. Jaime had decided long ago to assume he was agreeing. It made life much more pleasant. 

"Indeed. She's the most beautiful woman in the village. That's not a guarantee everywhere." Jaime had seen many beautiful women in Paris, when he had gone into the army. Although he had to admit, Sansa outstripped most of them. 

"Well, she'll regret it, brother. They always do." Tyrion polished off the rest of his wine and signaled for another glass. 

Jaime nodded, raising his bottle to clink with his brother's glass. It took different quantities of alcohol to get them drunk. Jaime was three times the size that Tyrion was. She would regret it. He remembered all the women who had regretted him. Jaime hadn't always been this tall or this handsome. He had worked hard to become so large and muscular. And then one day he had woken up as a handsome man. Women swooned. Men envied. And every girl that had scorned him now wanted to marry him. He had taken especial pleasure in turning down one such young lady. Cersei, daughter of the local squire. Her beauty was the only beauty that rivaled Sansa's, now that he thought about it.

She had laughed in his face years ago. Then she'd smiled in it. And said that she had loved him. She had been killed by the plague that had swept through the village all those years ago. Jaime still remembered her laughter. 

Sansa was the same. She looked down on him too. But instead of laughter, she used clever words. 

But it would be different this time. He would get her. After all, he was Jaime. Who would refuse him for long?

****  
Jon. His name had been Jon. That was long ago. 

Now he had no name. 

He was not alone in this - his servants were beginning to forget their names. They had to work hard, repeating it to themselves. He would have soup spoons muttering things like 'VAL, MY NAME IS VAL" as he tried to dip them in his soup. Jon had recently started bothering with spoons again. And soup, too. He used to just eat a roast chicken whole whenever he got hungry. Now that Sansa had arrived, things had become more civilized. 

Sansa. Nobody forgot her name. How could they? Her name was on everybody's lips. Well, if they had lips. 

They loved her. Every dish in the kitchen, every gargoyle on the turret, every cushion on the couch. They adored Sansa, so beautiful and kind. Jon could understand this. Sansa's arrival lit a small candle of hope in everybody's heart. Including Jon's. 

She had started to have dinner with him. It had started when he had been newly hurt. She had not left his side, and all their meals had been delivered. He had watched her eat so delicately that it had made him feel ashamed to scarf down his chicken, bones and all. 

He'd begun to try again. For years he had let the beast take over. It was difficult to try to be the man again. 

But he was willing to try. For Sansa, he was willing to try. 

The rose was looking surprisingly healthy, despite the lack of petals. He was tempted to tap the glass, but didn't. When he had been younger, he had done it. Tried to force petals off, to make his final punishment come faster. At that point he thought that he had been used to despair. Now he knew what despair was. It wasn't something that grabbed you in a moment. It dragged you down like an anchor. And you had to learn to live with it. 

The room that he was in was a testament to this despair. There wasn't a single thing in the room that wasn't destroyed. He had torn his whole life apart. All of the trinkets that he had hoarded when he was a younger man were shattered. Swords were bent from the pressure of trying to slide them through his ribcage and into his heart. His fur gave him a kind of impenetrability. Which he had tested at many low moments during the years. What was left of his bed was a pile of broken wood and torn feathers. 

And, somehow, a coat. 

It was a large one, multicolored. Jon had had many fine coats when he had been younger, and none of them fit him now. He had recently put on the largest one, and even those seams had broken under the power of his arms. But this coat was large. It looked as though it fit. 

It did fit. 

And it was beautiful. All the colors somehow looked well together. He never would have thought it. 

He reached into the pocket and pulled out a note. He'd punctured the parchment with one of his paws, and tried carefully to read it anyway.

"My Dear Friend,

I hope you do not mind if I have taken a few of your coats to make you something that fits you better. And if you do, please forgive me my trespasses. I hope you enjoy it. Especially the back. 

With Affection, 

Sansa." 

Affection. That was something. 

Hopefully the rose would be able to hold out until the affection turned to something better. 

He could not see the back of his coat. Once there had been mirrors in every part of this castle. He could still collect some of the shards, he supposed. He leaned over the ground and tried to look for anything that sparkled. 

There was a noise. Jon jumped, and looked automatically at the rose over his shoulder. It looked as placid as ever. But in the moonlight, he could see his back like a mirror. 

Embroidered into the coat was a large, beautiful wolf surrounded by blue roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Like Sansa, I hope you all will consider forgiving me for my trespasses. Real life has been difficult lately, but I'm hoping that there will be more updates soon. Thank you all for your kind comments and kudos! Happy Thanksgiving!


	15. A Brief Mystery, Resolved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has been leaving Sansa books. A feast is made. Servant talk. Jon tries to find a fine surprise for Sansa for St. Nicholas' Day.

The Master was in the Kitchen. Gilly had not known that he even knew where it was. Before the curse, he had been too busy hunting and fighting and showing off his fine figure for all the ladies of the court. Although she supposed that he had not been aware that he was showing off for the ladies. It was something that just happened to him. 

But he swept into the kitchen, scattering pots and pans in his wake. 

"Where is Tormund?" He growled at her. Gilly tried to keep her composure, although she was shivering right down to her porcelain bottom. 

"I do not know Master." She said in a measured voice. "He has not been in the kitchen this morning." As a matter of fact, he had. Gilly had caught him canoodling in the broom cupboard with Brienne. All of the brooms had been really annoyed. 

The Master's paw slapped the kitchen counter with such force that she felt her own top shake. This was not unusual for the Master. 

What was unusual was how sorry he looked after he saw her shaking. 

"I - will not do that again. Let me know if you see Tormund." With that, he swept out of the kitchen, the tails of his new coat flying after him.

The other utensils started emerging from their hasty hiding places. 

"It's that Sansa." Val said, hopping out from the cutlery drawer and voicing everyone's silent opinion. 

Indeed, it was Sansa that had brightened the place up. The Master hadn't needed much caring for before this - just an occasional roast chicken. But with their new guest, there were sheets to change, meals to cook, and clothes to wash. The servants had felt motivated to do their jobs again. And for all of the complaints they had had about their lots in life when they were human, it felt nice to be useful. Or at least that was how Gilly felt. 

"How long do you think it will take?" Growled Wun Wun the Stove. His burners flamed underneath pots of bouillabaisse and saucepans of sauces. Inside the oven a lemon cake baked. Once they'd found out what Sansa loved to eat, everyone felt compelled to make sure that she had as much as she desired at all times. In fact, that was the feeling of every servant, not just the ones who worked in the kitchens. 

After all, Sansa would be the one to save them. At least, they hoped so. 

****

Someone was leaving books for Sansa. 

Every morning she woke up to a new one. Sometimes they would be on her bedside table. Or by her bowl of porridge at breakfast. Once she had even found it wedged between the roses in the frozen gardens. 

She'd spend the day reading the book and then the next day, there would be a new one. 

"I'm more well read than I ever have been in my life." She told her friend over dinner one evening. "Back in the village, I would just have to read whatever Davos had in stock. But here - well, I've been given more books than I have ever dreamed." Of course she suspected her friend being the one to gift her the books. But he seemed to lack the stealth that was required to sneak the books to her. His shaggy black body and snapping teeth disqualified him on all counts. 

"And is that a problem?" Her friend asked, amused. He tried not to eat when Sansa was looking at him. She noticed this. He would wait until she seemed preoccupied with something else and would then quickly snap a piece of chicken down his throat. Sansa tried to distract herself as much as she could during the meals they shared so he would not feel embarrassed. 

"No." She took a spoonful of bouillabaisse and swallowed it, savoring the flavors on her tongue. "Well, I suppose so. In a way. All of this time that I have - it's luxurious, but I feel as though I am getting nothing done. I like to feel useful in my own way. I am not much of a physical worker, although I had to be when my mother died and we moved to the town where I am from." Sansa still remembered the beautiful little house in the north. They had had a maid and a nurse and a couple of serving men. Sansa's mother owned silks. There had been meat at every meal. 

When Sansa's mother died, the stipend from her family stopped coming. Sansa's father stopped his work. They'd had to leave the beautiful house and their servants. Life had become small. 

Her friend looked thoughtful. 

"You do not feel useful here?" He asked gently. 

"The most useful I felt was when you got hurt." She said thoughtlessly. 

"If you wish, I could try to injure myself again." He said, a smile on his lips. She reminded herself that it was a smile, even though his fangs were bared. He would not like to think that he had frightened her. 

"Don't be foolish." She snapped back. "I mean, I wouldn't like that. At all." A blush crept up the side of her face, and she tried to calm it. 

His eyes were overlarge, and she could see that they were searching her face from all the way across the shiny wooden table. 

"You wouldn't." He repeated. 

"No." Sansa said. 

Abruptly, he turned back to his plate, stabbing awkwardly at a piece of roasted aubergine with one of the beautiful golden forks. Her friend's hands were not suited to such fine cutlery, and the fork disappeared into his paw. Sansa stared pointedly onto her own plate, to give him room to eat in his own way. 

Then she had an idea. 

"I don't much like these forks. They taste odd on the tongue." She said, leaving it on her plate. Instead, she picked up her own piece of roast aubergine with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. Her friend looked at her and smiled. Awkwardly, he speared a piece of chicken with his claw and stuck it between his fangs. 

"Me neither." He said. 

****

Tormund had never gotten used to bowing. He hadn't done it when he was a human. His master had allowed him indulgences in exchange for doing excellent work. Even now he didn't make Tormund do it. 

But Brienne was fond of making him bend the knee. 

They had not been able to engage in any human like activities for years now. And their metal and wooden bodies didn't feel the same urges that their flesh ones did. But they tried to still play at being human. It felt like a good thing. 

So he and Brienne would pretend. They would pretend to be human. Sometimes it was as mundane as pretending to have an argument over what to have for dinner. 

And sometimes it got more interested. 

"And here is where I would tie you up." Brienne said. She could not make herself sound seductive. She sounded like she was giving orders. Thankfully, Tormund had always found that seductive. 

"With silk ties, m'lady?" He asked her, winking roguishly. Thankfully he still had that ability. 

"Whatever would be most comfortable." She said, all business. 

They were in a secluded corner of the castle, one of many such secluded corners. Oddly enough, it had been easier for them to sneak around when his master had been angry. Although Tormund didn't like to think of the young man as his master. He had no masters, only employers. But this employer liked to be called Master. So Tormund complied as much as he was able. After all, he was getting paid. 

Or he used to. A candelabra had little use for money. 

"On your knees, ser." Brienne commanded. 

"Tormund." The voice was not that of his lady. 

"Good evening." Tormund greeted the great beast. Brienne did as well. She had never been afraid of the creature. 

"I have interrupted." The great beast said. He did not apologize, only observed. From him, this was a huge gesture. 

"What can I do for you?" Tormund asked him. 

For once, the great beast looked uncomfortable. It was a flash of the boy that had been there before. 

"Sansa feels useless here." He admitted. 

"But she is of great use!" His lady exclaimed. Brienne never was one to suppress what she felt, unless she felt that it was her duty to suppress her feelings. 

"Indeed. But she does not know that. And I wouldn't....wouldn't want her to feel any pressure of any kind." The great beast looked down at his clawed feet uncomfortably. He ran his fingers over his new coat. It was the only part of his appearance that he took great care in maintaining. 

Tormund felt a rush of affection for the great beast. He was just a man inside, after all. 

"Not at all, not at all. So what can we do?" Tormund asked. 

"Well, I thought that I might- St. Nicholas Day is coming. I thought I might give her a gift." The great beast looked uncomfortable. 

"A gift? Romantic. What do you think she would like best?" Tormund was about to start suggesting things, but stopped with a look from Brienne. He suddenly remembered how his gifts were usually received. Always with a slight annoyance that they were not chainmail. Brienne had a love of knighthood, borne from being the daughter of a penniless knight. Her reduced circumstances had forced her into servitude. Tormund had found service in much the same way, except his came byway of an avoidance of the hangman's noose. Neither of them belonged to this place. It had been a cruel twist of fate that they had been forced here all these years. Right when they were about to be released from it. 

Tormund still had the rings underneath a floorboard in the kitchen. Their wedding rings. They'd had only to wait three days before running off to wedded bliss. To freedom. 

One day he and Brienne would have their freedom again. That he would guarantee her. 

With that in mind, he opened his mouth to suggest the perfect gift. 

****  
On the morning of St. Nicholas Day, Sansa awoke to a new blanket of snow, a copy of Heloise and Abelard, and a note. 

Sansa-   
Please breakfast without me this morning. I have a surprise for you   
\- Your Friend

The kitchen was a riot of activity. 

Pans of spiced gingerbread and crowns of mannala were being removed from the ovens, piping hot. Truffles were being rolled in cocoa powder and slices of oranges were dipped in sugar. A pork roast was being prepared with mustard and apples. Mushrooms were fragrant when fried in oil, and rounds of cheese were being rolled into be sliced. Oysters in half shell sat on ice. 

Gilly the kindly teapot housekeeper delivered her a fat crown of brioche with a small dish of butter and a mugful of chocolate. "Happy St. Nicholas Day, my dear." She beamed at Sansa. 

"Thank you." Sansa dug in delicately to the indulgent breakfast. "Is this all for tonight?" She asked in wonder. 

"And more." Gilly said lightly. "I haven't been able to make a feast in quite a while, my dear girl. And it is Advent, after all. We must indulge." Poor Gilly looked at the beautiful platters of food with such longing that Sansa's heart ached for her. It must be so difficult to have human urges and not be truly human. 

"You will." Sansa promised her. "Once we break this curse." 

And now, somehow, Sansa knew what her purpose in this castle would be. 

She would try to break the curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mannala is a kind of French brioche made especially for St. Nicholas' Day. And look another update. I'm on a roll, y'all. (Let's see how long it lasts!)
> 
> Thank you for reading - hope you enjoy!


	16. What's Past Is Prologue

There was a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it. Sansa had spent her life wanting to do things, but she had been prevented because her father's happiness and security depended on her staying where she was. For the most part, she had not minded. It was no burden to care for a person that she loved so dearly. And she could always have her adventures later. And it had always felt like there would be a later. 

But in the castle it was more difficult. The future that Sansa had seen for herself had shriveled up, although she was just as much of a prisoner here as she had been back in the village. It was only here that she was called prisoner. 

This was the trouble with being imprisoned. It made a person introspective. 

She loved her father, she did, but she would never be able to travel as she had always dreamed with him. He had had a terrible head injury a few years ago and had never been able to do much beyond make clocks and care for the horse. It had been up to Sansa to take care of everything else. She'd made do, but she knew that her father would never be able to live on his own again. He could function well enough day to day, but left alone he would crumble. 

Sometimes she missed the strong, brave man that would lift her in his arms and make her feel as if nothing in the world could harm her. It had been a rude awakening when she had found out that he couldn't. 

Sansa knew that she couldn't do everything. But somehow, here, it felt impossibly important to break the curse. And she knew that there had to be a curse on this place. She hadn't even been around big magic like this before, only the little tricks that people would do at fairs, but she still knew how magic felt. And she could feel it coursing through the halls in the palace. 

And breaking the curse would mean that she could return to her father. Which would not wholly be freedom, but it would be more comfortable than fearing what was happening to him now. She hoped that he was all right. 

****

Ned had known cold before, but not like this. It bit through the sleeves of his woolen shirt and blew back his cloak until it flapped uselessly behind him. But in his heart, he was warm. His daughter would soon be free of whatever that creature was in that castle. She would be home with him, reading her books and humming to herself while she baked bread. Ned had been glad that he and his wife had never been able to have any other children, because he knew that Sansa would always secretly be his favorite. 

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Jaime shouted over the gale that whipped right through them. Out of the three of them, Jaime was the only one who had not bowed to the whip of the wind. Somehow Ned doubted that he was the sort of man who would bow to anybody. Which was why he had asked him along. 

"Yes." Ned called back. He knew the trees in this wood. There would only be a little way to go before they saw the wolves. He had warned Jaime and his brother about the wolves, but neither man had seemed too worried. They'd both brought a litany of weapons with them. Which was probably why they were not worried. 

Secretly Ned hoped that they wouldn't have to use them. He'd hate to kill a noble creature, but for Sansa he would do anything. 

"Just a little way more." He called out over his shoulder, hoping that he was right.

****

"Do you have any books on magic?" Sansa asked over breakfast. Jon snorted into his flagon of tea. She sipped delicately at her cup. It was real bone china. 

"Books? My lady?" He asked in quick succession. Despite the growl of his voice, Sansa sensed his nervousness. 

She started to pull a loaf of sweet brioche apart, savoring the smell. There was tart lemon curd to go on top of it. The kitchen had quickly found out her preferences. She spread it thick on the white interior of the bread and bit down. It was best to give Jon time to get his bearings. He did not talk much, and had spent years just growling at people. Language was something that he was beginning to re-grasp. 

"Why do you ask?" He finally said. 

"I'm interested. And you seem to have so many books." She gave him a casual shrug, which was difficult to do in the constrictive satin gown. Beautiful things had begun appearing in Sansa's room, the kinds of things that she had always dreamed of. Unfortunately she had never dreamed how uncomfortable some of them would be. But she was a lady, so she didn't kick off the amethyst encrusted shoes that she wore, no matter how deep they cut into her feet. 

"I just wondered where they all came from." The corset that she was wearing made her voice come out all breathy. It actually seemed to be a positive in this situation. Jon looked thoughtful instead of threatened. 

"I will take a look and see what we have." He did not offer to show her where the books had come from, which was rather cruel of him. But she gave him a satisfied nod and continued to nibble at her lemon covered brioche. It was so delicious. 

****

Ned's stomach growled. They had not brought anything beyond hardtack, and the only person who had thought to bring that was Tyrion. Ned had forgotten to bring anything to eat. He forgot a lot of things. 

"I thought you said that this was only a few hours journey!" Jaime spat at him. "We've been out here all night. And nothing to show for it but going in circles." 

It was true. Somehow, despite Ned's certainty that they were going the right way, the forest had seemed to close around them, pushing them back to the main path. They had passed it several times before the others had given up. 

"We'll try tomorrow." He told them brightly. 

The brothers gave each other a look. 

"Your daughter probably ran off. Was too sick of dealing with a useless old man. Like we are." Jaime said, suddenly pushing Ned from his mount. All he could see was their hooves galloping away. 

And even though it was foolish, he drew himself to his feet and walked on. He hoped that it was the right way. 

****  
The first book appeared on her nightstand. The Tempest. 

This was not a magic book, although it was full of magic. The sprite Ariel, enslaved by the unseen Sycorax. Iris, Ceres, and Juno. And Prospero himself, a magical, isolated figure at the center of it all. 

It was a play about captivity. Ariel was a captive of Sycorax and then Prospero. Miranda's captivity disguised itself as fatherly love. Caliban, deformed and alone, was bound to the sorcerer. 

She could not help but identify with these characters. At different points, she had felt like all of them. 

Although by the end of the play, they had all been set free. 

Sansa made a list. Love had unlocked Miranda. Prospero had pardoned Caliban. Obedience had freed Ariel. And Prospero himself had given up his magic to go free. 

She wondered if these were clues. 

The next morning, she woke up, and there was no new book. Only a note, with a few words on it. 

What's Past Is Prologue. 

She wondered what it meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey guys! Excited to be giving this update. Sorry there isn't much going on. 
> 
> Also I know the Tempest is about more than captivity. This interpretation just kind of works for this story. Anyway, let me know what you think!


	17. Red and Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, and Sansa has a mission. Jon wants to give a gift.

Christmas was approaching, faster than Jon was expecting. It was the first time in years that he was even aware of Christmas. After his transformation, he had broken every clock in the castle. Except for Aemon, who had been transformed into one. 

It was Sansa who had made him aware of the days. Every sunrise, she made a mark on the wall. She had apologized for it when he had caught her at it, but he had not felt offended. On the contrary. It gave him hope that she felt comfortable enough to stay. 

She had been here three months. Autumn had given her hand to Winter, and even outside the magical clutches of the castle grounds, snow blew over the countryside. Sansa had started wearing her cloak inside. Jon had demanded that the fires be kept up as hot as they could go. This had lasted only a couple of days before Sansa had realized the toll that it took on the servants and asked them to stop. 

Jon had blushed when he had heard. Or at least, he thought that he had blushed. It was difficult to tell under all of the fur that coated his body. And genuine emotion had been a stranger to him for years now. It was discomfiting to see it come back. 

He walked, now, instead of bounding on all fours. He did not tear into raw meat, but picked apart cooked birds drenched in fine sauces. It was almost like he was his old self again. 

But his old self was what had turned him into a monster. 

Although perhaps he had been one already. 

He knew that he had been arrogant, occasionally cruel. He had been a queen's son, told that whatever he did was God's will. He supposed that it was understandable that he would turn out the way that he did. Nurture overcoming whatever good he might have possessed in his nature. 

He wondered what Sansa would have been like if she had been raised as a lady. Hopefully still as obsessed with her stories and her dreams. 

Jon had known a great deal of love from fine ladies. They had all wanted an opportunity with the heir. He did not blame them or hate them for it. Many of them were just trying to help their families gain favor. 

And they'd had ample opportunities at the balls. 

The balls. 

If Sansa had been around to see the balls, she would have called them an enchantment. The candles that lined the room like borrowed stars. The silk banners that flew up as people danced. All the colors and the lights and the food. The sight of it all had stunned many a seasoned courtier at the sight of its beauty. But Sansa - he almost shivered with pleasure at the thought of her reaction. 

"Aemon, we ought to have a ball." He turned to the little clock, who wobbled slightly in surprise. 

"A ball, master?" His old voice warbled. "For you...and the lady?" This was as close as the old man got to innuendo. Jon appreciated him for it. 

"Yes. Yes. If she would like to go with me. I don't know if she would." His paws twisted together. 

"I don't know. Perhaps you could ask her....?" But Jon shook his mane. 

"No, no. I don't - what if she doesn't? I don't know. It's too soon, maybe. Who knows?" The old clock gave him a bit of a look, but then checked himself. 

"Perhaps you could give her a gift. Test the waters a bit. You know?" Jon had never been good at bestowing gifts. There had always been other people to do that for him. But he could not have somebody else give Sansa a gift. That would cheapen it. 

"But what should I give her?" He asked. 

Aemon started a bit. Jon knew why. He had never asked for guidance before, certainly not from servants. 

"Well I know what I'd get a lass like that." Tormund said, struggling to get up on the table next to Aemon. His short metallic limbs did not do much to help him. 

Jon growled under his breath. He couldn't help it. Tormund put both of his candlestick arms up. 

"All right, all right. I apologize. Just having a bit of fun." He sat back on his haunches, an awkward business because he had no legs. "Well, you could - oh, no, never mind. And - no, no. Um, well, what does she like?" Jon's eyes fell on the table next to his bed.

And he had an idea. 

****

Sansa awoke early the morning of Christmas Eve. There was so much to do. 

Most years, Christmas meant a small cut of meat and an orange for each of them. Her father would occasionally carve Sansa something out of wood or buy her paper and ink if there was money. If there was not, they would sing in front of the fire together. 

Then her father would tell her stories of their Christmases up north when she had been a child. There had been roast goose, ham, rounds of white cheese and hot bread, trenchers of roast potatoes slathered in butter, pies of every flavor, and whipped cream that looked like tufts of snow. And there had always been a tray of lemon cakes and orange slices for Sansa as a special treat. She hardly remembered those Christmases, although occasionally she got a flash of those sugared dreams. The memories always seemed to warm her father. 

But Christmas in the castle meant excess. When she walked into the kitchen that morning, she had nearly been bowled over by a roast the size of her waist. 

"Sorry!" The cutlery holding it chirped. 

"Is this Christmas dinner?" She whispered, taking in the counter, which had every pastry known to man on it. Gilly, who was overseeing everything, lifted her spout. 

"Yes, mistress. Do you like it?" Her stomach rumbled in answer. But Sansa's head shook. 

"It's too much. I know that you all cannot eat. Unless others are invited?" Her heart lifted. She had not seen anyone that was truly human in over a hundred days. 

Gilly's spout shook. "I'm sorry. Just you and the Master." Her porcelain eyes were glued to the ground. 

"Oh." Sansa knew that she should have expected it. But - she wished. Perhaps she shouldn't wish, then. 

"You'll have it over several days." Gilly assured her. "I promise the food won't go to waste." Sansa did not doubt that. The food in the castle never seemed to rot. She had experimented with this by taking a slice of fresh bread to her room with her a couple of months ago. She'd bitten into it this morning, and it had tasted just as delicious as the day that it was baked. 

"But this is Christmas. Where is our Christian charity?" Sansa asked. Everyone in the kitchen did not look at her. Her heart turned in her chest. Of course. They were doing all of this out of their Christian charity. They wanted to make her happy, even though they had all been doomed to be kitchen flatware for who knew how long. 

"I -I would like to thank you all. And I wish that you could join us for this feast, that is all. And I wish that others could, too." Her mind turned, as it frequently did, to her father. She wondered what had become of him this Christmas. She hoped that he was at home, with his meat and oranges. She wished desperately that she could be there too. 

The clattering of the preparations resumed, and Sansa backed her way out of the kitchen. She ran almost smack into Jon. 

"I'm sorry." She gasped. He smiled, then hid his teeth. 

"Are you all right, my lady?" Occasionally he lapsed into these courtesies. Sansa found that she did not mind. 

"Yes, I'm sorry. I bumped into you." The wind had been knocked out of her. Jon was terribly solid. He reached out a hand and ghosted it on her back, trying to lead her towards a chair. She tried to smile and choke a bit of breath back into her lungs. Once she had, she took Jon's paw and examined it. 

"Did't hurt you, did I?" His shaggy black eyebrows shot up, and he shook his head. 

"No. I'm made of stronger stuff, my lady." The corners of his mouth twinged upward shyly. 

"Of course you are. Would you like to gather some greenery?" She asked him. 

His brow furrowed. 

"Greenery?" He asked. 

"Yes, to decorate. I would always do it a little before Christmas. It made the house smell lovely. Although I don't think there will be enough greenery to make your house smell quite as cozy as our little cottage did." She laughed at the memory. He smiled back at her. 

"Of course. I should like that." 

Nearly every day a new gown showed up in Sansa's closet, all set for whatever weather was afoot. Today Madame Maergery produced a sky blue woolen gown, cut with a bit of a flare. It had been paired with a fine fur hat and a velvet cloak. They were breathtakingly warm and beautiful. 

"For your eyes, my dear." Maergery said. "It will charm whoever might see you." Sansa's eyes flicked over to her wardrobe. The woman was kind, but she was crafty too. Sansa didn't want to know what she had up her sleeve.

"Would you like some greenery, my friend?" Sansa asked her. Maergery's voice came out a little saucy. Sansa imagined that if she had eyes, she might have rolled them. 

"My dear. Green is not my color. Although I do love flowers." She said. "When I was human, men would give me rooms full of flowers. I'd tend them, make sure that they were growing strong." Sansa offered her a smile and left. 

Jon was waiting for her. He was wearing the jacket that she had sewn him, alongside a pair of velveteen pants that looked new. Sansa eyed the fabric. She could see how fine it was. Sansa herself had loved looking at the fabrics that the peddlers sold at fairs. Although she could never afford anything. 

"I asked one of the seamstresses to make it for me. She got turned into a needle." Jon was holding an ax in his hand. He saw her looking at it and explained. "Just so we don't hurt the poor things anymore than we have to."

There was something about his words. Sansa stopped for a second. She looked out at the extensive grounds, all covered in white. "A-are you saying what I think that you are saying?" Her face puckered in horror. "Are these poor trees alive?" There was a powerful draft as Jon's head shook. 

"Oh no. Please. No. I just meant that we ought to try to hurt the plants as little as possible. I would never." Jon looked at his feet. "Would you really believe that of me?" 

Sansa was shocked to discover that she didn't. 

"No. Not anymore. I just wanted to be sure. I'm sorry." She touched his shoulder and squeezed it slightly. Although it was breaking the rules of what a lady ought to do with a man, he seemed comforted by it. Which made it worth doing. 

"So?" He clutched the ax. "Are you ready?" 

****

She walked slightly ahead of him, pointing out the things that she wanted him to chop. "Get some of that holly, and lots of these evergreen branches. I want to bundle them together with twine." He followed her, watching the tail of red hair that flared against the white snow like fire.

"Oh." She stopped and took his arm. "Do you see that?" It had nothing to do with the greenery. It was just a cardinal nesting atop one of the trees. "How lovely." 

She had not removed her hand from his arm. Usually when she touched him - the few times that had happened - they were fleeting things. She'd tap him to get his attention, or examine his injured arm to make sure that it wasn't hurt. But today, her hand just rested on his arm. He tried to be quiet about it, and not disturb it. 

Who knew how long that it would last.

 

****

"Jon?" She asked him, looking up. He always started at the sound of his name. 

"Yes?" He said. 

They'd had a wonderful time together, but all she could think about was the food in the kitchen. Not because she was hungry, although she was.

"The food in the kitchen - there is more than enough for us both. Too much, I should think. And back where I'm from, well, there are so many hungry people. It would be such a kindness if we could give them some of what we have, don't you think?" 

****

Jon thought. He had not thought of the people outside the castle when he had ordered the feast, only of Sansa's pleasure. 

"Would it please you?" He asked her. Already her could see her head bobbing. 

"All right." There was no other answer. 

 

****

She had recruited Jon to tie the greenery together, and they had passed several hours figuring out the best arrangements for it in the castle. Jon had even produced some candles to stick in the centers and light. The effect was positively enchanting. 

They were walking around admiring their work when Jon suddenly got excited. Sansa was sure that it was the Christmas spirit seizing him, and laughed when he started racing down the hall, his hand encasing hers gently. 

"Where are we going?" She asked him. 

"It's a surprise." He told her. 

****

Jon had found the perfect gift. He knew that he had. He just ought to check on something first. 

****

She was made to wait in the hall for a frightfully long time. All this time alone had made her an expert at calculating seconds and minutes, and by her count, she had been standing for 2457 seconds when he had rounded the corner to find her. 

"Sorry." He said breathlessly. "Come with me." 

Two forbidding wooden doors awaited her. She looked up at them, a little afraid. 

"Should I close my eyes?" She asked him. He shook his head, but led her by the hand through the doors. 

Candles blotted out the darkness. It looked like they were in the midst of their own private constellation. A low table was set for supper, groaning with all her favorite dishes. 

And best of all, the books. 

Sansa had to lean her head back as far as it could go to see the top of the library. 

"Oh." She was drawn to one of the nearest shelves like magic, and began to flip through the nearest tome. They were so beautiful. She ought not to touch. "These are yours?"

Jon's voice floated through the semi-darkness. 

"No. They're yours now." He told her. "Merry Christmas." 

She could not withhold her cry of delight. 

****

In the depths of the forest, a plate weighed down with the finest food that the castle had to offer appeared in one of the worst hovels that had ever been built. Wind rattled through the miserable sticks and nearly took out the fire. The inhabitant of this hovel had never been trained in the art of building homes, only magic. A pity, now that she was unable to use it. 

But hot food is its own kind of magic. Its scent awoke an old man, who had begun to moan. The sorceress caring for him smiled. So she was beginning to change him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Hope you're enjoying the story so far - and having a lovely Christmas season! Please leave a comment if you can, and have a wonderful day. :)


	18. Midnight

It was the last morning of the year. Sansa always got a special thrill on New Year's Eve. It felt as if all of the old year was being sloughed away, leaving a shiny new one underneath. 

She looked forward to what it would bring. 

Although, she supposed, she probably shouldn't, because it would only bring more of the same. She had promised to live in Jon's castle for as long as she lived, after all. Her days would be the same until she died. The thought diminished her a little bit. 

"But then again," She said aloud. "My days were the same at home, too." Jon's castle was surrounded by a thicket of trees. They were terrifying at night, but during the day they felt friendly. Especially if she kept in sight of the pond, which had gone glassy in the winter cold. 

Her voice echoed in the otherwise empty forest. Sansa had begun to like the castle, especially its inhabitants, but sometimes she needed time to herself. Back home, her father had always understood this. The enchanted inhabitants of the castle didn't. They thought that if she was alone, she must be in need of company. It was a kind impulse, but it drained her. 

She continued the conversation with herself. "Yes, but I had hope that they would change one day. These never will." The thought weighed on her, and she actually hunched over slightly. She did like the castle, truly she did, but the reminder of its permanence in her life depressed her. She was a prisoner here. There would be no chance for love or opportunity. She'd never see her father again. So many things had been taken from her. Too many, now that she thought on it. 

"But I am lucky." She argued with herself. "I have fine clothes and good food and great friends. I want for nothing." That was not how it had always been. Ironically, she had far more company now that she was imprisoned than when she lived in the village. And she was grateful for it, she truly was. But for just this moment, in the woods, she would give herself a moment to mourn for the life that she would never get to lead. 

***  
"No, the fire of the sky is not more lively nor more swift than the one that overcame me the minute we kissed." Sansa blushed at the last line, which she took as a sign to stop reading. 

At her silence, everyone in the room erupted. They wanted to hear more. 

"Oh, please, milady." Gilly said dreamily. 

"It makes us do our work faster." Tormund assured her, forgetting the fact that not a soul had moved as she had read. 

Sansa smiled. Her friends were kind, but she only did it because they could not turn the pages themselves anymore. Although it wasn't as if they could have used the library when they had hands. The Beast had forbidden it. 

Sansa had begun to think of Jon and The Beast as two separate beings. The Beast did terrible, disappointing things, and Jon did not. She had not seen much of the Beast lately. Neither had the servants. 

Gilly assured her that it was all to do with her being there, but if that was the case, Sansa was rather disappointed in Jon. She could not be the finger in the dike of his fury. 

"I promise that I will read more later." She said. "My throat is a little dry." She shouldn't have said that. Immediately, they plied her with tea and honey, and insisted that she go up and rest. They would be just fine. 

Sansa took the tea, but she did not rest. Instead, she escaped to the library. Outside, it was beginning to darken, the last sunset of the year. Sansa watched through the wide glass windows, until she got an idea. 

***  
It was far colder outside than it had been a few hours ago. Sansa pulled her cloak closer under her chin. Her hair whipped around her face. But she had a destination in mind, and wouldn't stop until she got there. 

The rose garden was as beautiful as it had been that summer, although in a different way. The roses were still blooming, crystallized under ice. It was unusual, although given the life that she had led for the past few months, unusual was a relative term. 

She opened her book and bent her head. 

"Sansa?" 

It was dark when she looked up. Full black. 

Jon's hairy form loomed over her, a monster from nightmares. He seemed to sense this, and slumped down a little bit. 

"Apologies. Um, we were worried." He said softly. 

"Worried? Oh, I am sorry. What time is it?" She asked, feeling her cheeks. They were deadly icy. Oh dear. 

The clock answered for him. Twelve bongs sounded out from the tower. 

"Midnight." She whispered. 

"Yes." He said. "I'm sorry it took so long to find you. Nobody thought that you would be outside." No, they wouldn't, Sansa thought. A sensible person would not be outside in this kind of weather. Especially not reading a book. 

Jon wavered uncertainly as she collected herself, ever conscious of how cold it was. 

"There will be food in the hall when you return. I can have it sent up to you if you like." He said. 

"Oh, no. I hope that you have not put off your dinner for me." She said. His silence said that he had. She apologized again, and silently made plans to apologize profusely to everyone in the castle for going through all that trouble. 

"It is no worry at all. Except for you. We were worried for you." Jon's words ran together. He had trouble articulating them around his fangs. 

"Yes, indeed. I thank you." They were posed awkwardly in the rose garden. Almost like dancers waiting for the music to start. "Um, we can go in now." His arm hung awkwardly in the air, a suggestion. She took it. The warmth reminded her of how cold she was. 

They made their way to the castle slowly, as one of Jon's steps was equal to three of Sansa's. Her skirts were also weighed down with snow. 

"You are reading a love story." Jon said without looking at the cover of her book. 

"How do you know that?" She asked, a little embarrassed. 

"It is most of what you read." He said. "Characteristic of you. Everywhere you go, you are beloved." She could not see his face. It was turned away from hers. 

"Sir, you are mistaken." She laughed. "I am not. In my village -" 

This time he did look at her. 

"Are you telling me that you did not have that entire village at your feet?" He was incredulous. "They lack taste." 

The wind tugged at her hair like a child, and she had to look up at him to free it. "You have been in this castle too long, sir." She teased. 

"Not long enough to lose my judgement." He said. He paused, then spoke again. "So you had no love that you were leaving when you came here." It was not a question. 

"No." She said, surprised. "The only man I have loved is my father."

His arm slipped away from her for a moment's time, and the absence of his warmth quickly and brutally educated her to the depth of the cold outside. He surveyed her in depth. Her cheeks stung with embarrassment. 

"Never?" 

"No." She said. "Have you?"

They had never spoken this way to each other. Her body began to shake as their eyes met, although she could not say that it was from the cold. 

"Once." The word sounded like it had been wrenched from his lips. 

As if it knew that they needed rescuing, the clock struck the quarter hour, and they became more sensible again. He offered her his arm, and they made their way back up to the castle so quickly that Sansa swore that they must have flown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY Y'ALL! Life has been crazy, but I wanted to get you guys another chapter. Please let me know what you think of it, and I'm sorry for the delay again. :)


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